No Bad News
I’ve now encountered two different sets of people who told me that when a loved one in their family was undergoing serious illness, the doctor told them to not watch or listen to the news. Let us pause.
A physician with a degree (presumably) that she earned after toiling away for 98 years in a (hopefully) accredited medical school, employed in an (ideally) respectable practice and/or hospital or clinic tells an ailing patient that the news is literally bad for them. This is not a casual observation along the lines of “I don’t think those overalls are flattering on you.” This feels way more urgent and definitely serious. The doctor could just as well come right out and say “McDonald’s twice a week, not great; but one more hour of Tucker Carlson will end you.” Heed not this warning and we will be forced to bury you in those unflattering overalls.
Not heroin. Not sugar. Not excessive tanning. News. Information. Audio and visual representation of local and global events. This shouldn’t blow my mind—I have a pulse and a social media account--but it does. I grew up with a healthy respect and exposure to news. Most days talk radio droned from a small, black radio that sat on the edge of our kitchen counter. At night, Tom Brokow droned from a 13-inch TV set balanced precariously on a snack tray at the other end of the kitchen. Both of my parents religiously read the daily newspaper and poured over The Boston Globe on Sundays.
When major events cropped up like the fall of the Berlin Wall, my father liked to trot out the story of the moon landing in 1969. He and my mom were crowded around their TV set, along with everyone else in the world, watching as Neil Armstrong was about to exit the capsule when the phone rang. It was one of my dad’s old college friends, Jimmy-something. He just wanted to say hello, how are you? What’s new? “Jimmy,” my dad said, “I gotta go, they’re landing on the moon!” Don’t be like Jimmy-something was the take-away. Staying informed is important. It’s a responsibility. You really don’t want to find yourself in conversation with people you respect or who hold professional sway saying something like, “Wait, is apartheid a good or bad thing?” We can now unequivocally say that religion isn’t the only opiate of the masses; ignorance is jockeying for that number one slot.
I’ve been thinking about all of this a lot lately because I realized that the more news I consume, the less I actually know. Like everyone else—except for the people in that one tribe in the rainforest who refuse to have anything to do with the world beyond the jungle, and who I vigorously applaud (related: are you taking new members?)—I’m bad at tuning things out, not clicking, not scrolling, not parroting soundbites and headlines as if just by doing so I will feel in control OVER EVERY TERRIBLE THING THAT IS HAPPENING 24/7/365. Each time a new book comes out about the ways that all of our information delivery systems are failing us and rewiring our brains not for the better, as in finally hitting upon the solution to peace in the Middle-East, but in the worst possible ways, I read it and take notes and nod and agree and tell people “You should really read this! It’s, like, everything right now!” Then I wake up the next morning feeling like a bad citizen for not checking the headlines. One site couldn’t hurt, right? What if the Ukraine war ended overnight? Or Tom Hanks did something awesome? If I didn’t know about it, does it still count? File under Zen koans for the dysfunctional twenty-first century.
News piles up minute to minute; it’s a blizzard made of the shards of disaster, doom, and despair. And while it might be telling us something, it’s not teaching us anything useful except how to stay fearful and anxious and so depleted that we just surrender our brains completely. Depending on where you stand, we’re either very close to that point or it passed us three Kanye West feuds and one Sarah Palin political scandal ago.
If I had any easy solutions I would be writing this from my private island paid for by endless royalties and licensing deals. For me, it’s becoming more clear that making art is part of what I need to repair my brain and mend my psyche. When I’m out with my camera or taking photos with my phone, I’m not thinking about President Zelensky or worrying about gerrymandered elections in a state I don’t even live in. I’m breathing and I can feel the real world, the one not screaming at me in 20-point font, exhaling in union.
I’m noticing the snowy pop of hydrangeas against a wooden fence, like the heads of white-haired ladies gossiping between backyards.
I’m looking at the pearls of water resting on the outstretched hands of a daisy.
I’m stopping to watch a bee carefully kiss her way around the face of a flower.
And I’m not thinking about school shootings I cannot prevent. I’m not wasting energy on being angry with people in power I did not elect. I’m letting time drain away as I feel my brain reset itself in tiny increments with each ordinary wonder of this strange and beautiful place that catches my eye and soothes my bruised and burdened heart.
💜💜💜💜💜💜