Grief and the Abstract
As the everything gets "inevitably" worse, locally and globally, grief is a reasonable and important response.
The grim preamble
The Jackpot is here, as yet unevenly distributed, but as it emerges from the mist of the future it is hurting us concretely. As I write, the fallout from Cyclone Gabrielle continues. Friends of mine have been bullied out of their rental to make extensive repairs easier. A family friend had their home red-stickered and has now signed a 9-months lease for them, their four children and two dogs. My cousin’s place was flooded.
In February, Stats NZ reported that there were ~3600 more deaths in 2022 than 2021, a 10% jump, the biggest in a hundred years. It is reasonable to extrapolate that some not insignificant percentage of those of us that survived our infections are now more disabled than before. I have three friends (not acquaintances, friends) who have some kind of Long Covid.
Us comfortable middle class folks are joining the precariat, one disaster away from poverty, and the lower floor of the class of people who are immune to this is higher than many think. None of us are safe.
Rationalisation and Intellectualisation
Humans can get used to anything (psychologically speaking, physiologically we are fragile af), and we have an arsenal of mental tools to help us get through it all. Among them are:
Rationalization - Making up logical-seeming explanations to avoid facing the irrational reality of a situation
Intellectualization - Focusing on cerebral thoughts to avoid the emotional stress and anxiety of a situation
As a human, I’m ‘guilty’ of using both of these, as - probably - are you. I happen to spend a lot of time trying to find helpful/constructive/useful ways of orienting ourselves in the face of inevitable badness. I believe in not giving in, philosophically or materially, and finding a way forward.
Feeling your feelings
I found myself the other Saturday weeping in the arms of a friend. So much suffering exists in this cruel world and we are so powerless even to protect our loved ones from its slings and arrows, let alone anyone else. And I don’t honestly see it getting better the rest of our lives.
Watch this video of George Monbiot, who found himself unable to perform with the trademark talking-head indifference expected in a TV debate and instead began to authentically and openly cry, to his own embarrassment and the immense discomfort of his colleagues. Note their condescending and panicked response.
It would be unnatural and ghoulish not to feel despair, fear, hopelessness, sadness in the face of the world, and you may experience pushback and discomfort from people in your life for expressing these feelings.
Allow yourself to feel grief, and hold space for the people in your life who are going through it too. Certain realisations will hit your friends and family at different times. A family member called me one morning, shaken after watching a documentary, suddenly understanding the shape of what is coming. We want to rush to comfort each other, and we should comfort each other with the many joys and pleasures that life still will have to offer us, but first we must let the grief be expressed.
Be kind with yourself and with the people around you. We’ll need kindness.
Addendum: A poem
I wrote a poem about this, in case you didn’t already feel bleak enough.
For how many should we mourn? For our selves Our lovers, our friends and family Those dead of isolation, of illness Those that live still in broken down bodies And broken down houses, wet and mouldied Our neighbours and their neighbours and a country bounded by sea Beyond, all our humanity, flickering out beneath the waves and the winds Broiled under a wet bulb Cousins of cousins of cousins A vast shore, and beneath our feet Strata of shells and sand Our children are here. Shall we point out their bones when the tide recedes?