What's In Front of My Eyes

Exiting the Carousel of Outrage because I think outrage is the ammunition of the moment

Photo by Gavin Allanwood on Unsplash

This is not the Carousel of Outrage, but these horses look pretty crazed.

Tensions are high in many places because of politics, natural disasters, rhetorical bullshitery, and other acts of humans. Like all my friends, I see the incoming Appendix Administration* (see bottom of column for definition) as an existential threat to humanity. As goes the US, so goes the world, is my thinking, and we seem solidly to be in the jet stream of the last flush of the cosmic toilet.

However, I cannot live there. I need to be functional, maybe even a beacon of light and hope, in the dark days ahead. I’m not presuming to think that what I do or think matters that much to almost anyone; I do think that I can exert influence over myself and my immediate surroundings. So is born my current philosophy of survival: What Is In Front of My Eyes, or WIIFOME.

Here’s how it works: when my brain becomes overwhelmed thinking of all the things that are awful that I cannot influence let alone control, I stop myself. I pull the emergency brake on my brain. “Look at what is in front of your eyes,” my mind whispers to me, which feels kind of creepy but I know its intentions are pure.

So, I look at what is in front of my eyes. My giant orange Siberian forest cat, Harry. My two pups, Cocoa Bean and Griffin. The swaying old eucalyptus trees in my yard. The remnants of roses from the late fall bloom here in Southern California. I listen to the wind chimes on my patio, chosen specifically for their sometimes dissonant but pleasant sounds.

From left: Griffin, tiger, Cocoa Bean (not pictured: Harry the Giant Cat)

I go to my upstairs bedroom which I call my Treehouse because I can see the tops of the Aleppo pine and the Eucalyptus and palm trees outside the windows. If it’s dark enough, I turn on my Aurora light, a stupendously cheap contraption that shines a multicolored sheen of color across my white ceiling. It’s not the real thing, but then again, it is. I turn on my little Bluetooth speaker and listen to Joni Mitchell, Nick Drake, Laura Nyro, Loreena McKennitt, whatever feels most calming at that moment.

Enjoy eleven seconds of my Aurora video from the Treehouse:

I try to keep other people out of my WIIFOME because my brand of clearing my mind depends on sensory details and not much else. People always bring with them thoughts and wishes and expectations and jokes and going into the bathroom at the exact time I want to. They complicate this very simple process for me, so although I dearly love my husband and my spawn, I do not include them in this exercise when I do it. I can still observe and enjoy them, but they are not part of what I’m doing in that moment.

Photo by Sonder Quest on Unsplash

Not one of my owls, but similar…he looks surprised by my lack of owl accent

I go outside at night and find the moon. I look for patterns in its face. I listen to three Great Horned Owls having a lengthy and emotional conversation between three giant pines. I sometimes try to add a comment, but then they go silent. I guess my accent isn’t very good.

I focus on very small things that I barely noticed when my life was busy and full of political drama. The pattern in the tablecloth that reminds me of France. The feel of perfectly brushed flannel sheets against my legs. Slippers that keep my feet warm but are also cushy and like walking on marshmallows. Sipping fresh coffee and savoring the curling steam, the smell, the first sip, rolling it around on my tongue and finding the caramel aftertaste. Even the rough edge of my favorite mug where it broke and I glued it back together. My index finger touches glassy, rough, glassy, rough. It reads “I love the smell of coffee in the morning and the sound of no one talking to me while I drink it.”

You may say that I am simplifying my life to a granular degree and you would be right. This is not usually my style; I am a life-long worrier and digger of details, so focusing on minutiae is not my general approach to life. However, this new world and new life we are entering into is not regular. It’s not normal. It’s potentially dangerous and frightening and existentially nihilistic, if that’s even a word combo. I have tried nihilism on for size, and I found it full of holes. The holes were full of nothing. (Is your mind blown right there? I’m not sure if that was profound or stupid. It’s a fine line.)

I am not ignoring what is going on, though. I dip into a few trusted news sources twice a day, like a dragonfly skimming a pond. I have a rough outline of what is happening. Then I fly out and let it go unless there is an action I can take. That last part is very important to my model: UNLESS THERE IS AN ACTION I CAN TAKE. To restate, I am aware of the news and what is happening, but unless there is a direct action I can take, I am not going to dwell on the details of these horrendous events. I’ve done that for the last six or ten or million years and it hs only made me feel ill and has kept me from experiencing joy in my present life.

As I just said, I process, eject, and fly on unless there is an action I can take. These could be sending letters, calling Congress, giving money, boosting a social media post that needs boosting, maybe even going in person to a protest event or community service event. I will do, and have been doing, those things. Some of my trusted news sources are The Contrarian (a new endeavor with Jennifer Rubin and Norm Eisen) Meidas News Network by Ben Meisalas and also the Substack writing of E. Jean Carroll, Joyce Vance, Mary Trump, Angry Staffer on Patreon and Adam Kinzinger’s bipartisan Defending Democracy podcast . Rachel Maddow is back on MSNBC every day for the first 100 days of sturm und drang but I have been consistently disappointed in most cable news programs, so I am looking elsewhere for my unfiltered info, dipping in occasionally on PBS or the BBC or Reuters.

I have exited the outrage carousel because I think outrage is the ammunition of the moment.

Otherwise, I am in my soothing bubble of comfort, because when the time comes for action, and I’m guessing it will, I want to be whole and healed so I can do my best. It is a clarifying thing, this crucible of ugliness, and I need to be able to withstand what chaos may come by strengthening my mind, body, and spirit in the present.

*Appendix administration: Many have called the incoming cadre of clowns ARSEHOLES. I am not British but I prefer the British mode of cussing. Anyway, an arsehole is useful and has a purpose. An Appendix, though, is useless and full of poison. Therefore, I will henceforward refer to the incoming group of incompetent evildoers as the Appendix Administration.