Crazy days.
Not as in crazy sale days that small (and large, and maybe medium) towns across the Midwest (and maybe other parts of the country) host in the high heat in the middle of each summer (or fall, winter and spring). Clearly, crazy day sales is not something I research.
I’m talking elections, undeliverable ballots (WHY?), voting restrictions in states such as Oklahoma and Texas compared to, say, Illinois — events that occurred over the last few days and have encroached into the limited space that’s left in my brain.
The space in my brain is limited because it’s full of 50-and-still-counting years of collecting and analyzing information while trying to maintain some semblance of emotional normalcy.
My husband, an ecologist who studies landscape management, believes he can build a model that would successfully predict my growth and changes in reaction to natural and human disturbances. He calls this nonexistent model Anne-scape Management.
Sometimes I do wish that an automated system could manage me. The system would guide me through the steps of removing dirty clothes from the floor to hanging them neatly in a closet; reading student papers efficiently while providing helpful feedback and a desirable grade; getting dressed and happily (happily being the operative word here) walking the dogs every morning.
I hope that the automated system has a turn-off button. The system needs to turn off the moment I experience relaxation. Not any relaxation, though, relaxation with joy. Like writing a really good article. Or reading a fantastic book. Or working in the garden. Creating a card to send to a loved one. Cooking a nice meal with my family. Yoga.
This is why I feel crazy. I want to not emote. I want to accept things as they come. I want to tell people that everything will be okay, when, clearly, it isn’t.
I’ve had this feeling of desperation several times in my life. Each instance has been temporary, like the time I got lost in the woods and spent the night hunkered down on a cliff’s edge. I could hear the roaring river below me. I was terrified yet had the best sleep of my life that night.
Years later, I was about to give birth to my son. The obgyn told me all sorts of things during my pregnancy that culminated in an early decision that this kid was going to be a NICU kid. I didn’t understand the reasoning. Then the kid came early, was delivered by a different doctor, and I had no choice.
My obgyn called me after my son was born and admitted to the NICU to say she thought she’d made a mistake, this pregnancy probably was more normal than she thought, the baby probably was in utero the right amount of time, she (and I) just didn’t realize how pregnant I was when I walked into her clinic for the first pregnancy visit.
Boy, I can’t tell you how exactly frickin’ crazy I felt during that phone call.
Fast forward again, several years later, to another major crazy days period of my life. My 89-year old mother was dying. I live far from my parents. Many of my siblings live within proximity and checked in with my folks daily. I’m forever grateful for the time they’ve spent with my parents, and now, with my father.
I managed to visit my parents one or two times a year. My husband and I also hosted them at our home each year. When we knew my mother was sick, I visited without my husband and children. I returned home in tears to tell my husband and children that my mother was dying.
I recalled how, during my visit, I sat with one of my sisters minutes before a family video call. I told her Mom was dying. She told me that the point of the call was to keep Mom alive, not to talk about her death.
The call began. My siblings discussed practical things for my mother, how to get her places, how to keep her company, what and when to feed her. How far she could walk.
I felt crazy. Everyone knew Mom was sick. And old. And dying. But the topic was taboo. But death was exactly what I wanted to talk about.
Even though many other crazy moments in my life have occurred, I want to return to the present. To today. Wednesday, November 6, 2024.
The one thing that sets this day apart from the others I described is that the craziness I feel today isn’t unique. It isn’t my own. It’s a shared crazy. And one, ironically, that I prepared myself for, in much the same way I prepared for my mother’s death.
A deep, unspoken part of me knew that this would be the outcome. I wanted Kamala to win. I wanted to be a proud American who could say “Look at us, World! We’re progressing! We care about you!”
However, I kept asking myself What will I do when, not if, Trump is elected? How will I approach conversations that erupt around me? How can I ward off fear and promote hope for my children? For my husband? For myself?
I, like many of you, have witnessed the growth of misinformation and disinformation on the internet, and the takeover of local news outlets by rich, powerful individuals and corporations. People love rumors, love to be the first to hear and share shocking information. People dream of being the one who can easily manipulate others, even with all the anti-bullying rhetoric that has flooded our schools.
All of this helped me believe in the inevitable.
My answer to What will I do seems to be generated by the yet-to-be-built Anne-scape model. My response is deceptive in that it is self-serving.
My answer follows the advice given to me by grief counselors I visited following my mother’s death.
My answer echoes the directives my kind delivery doctor gave immediately after my son was born and a day before my husband left to be with his dying father.
My answer follows what my brain told my body to do when I was precariously perched on a cliff, high above a raging river.
My answer: Take care of myself.
Then take care of my family, my friends and community. In this order.
Here are some ways in which I feel I can manage the upcoming Crazy Days:
Pick up my dirty clothes, wash and fold them, and put them away in the closet. Then do the same for my husband and son and anyone who visits my home.
Grade my students’ papers with integrity and not worry about their grades because college courses are a great and safe place to fail — and succeed.
Relish feeding my family because we are good at planning, preparing and eating meals together.
Walk the dogs with joy every day.
Read and write and garden without feeling crazy for what I have, who I am, what I am willing to do.
Send you, dear reader, this homemade card.
Practice yoga.
I empathize with everyone who feels crazy. I empathize with those who feel threatened, scared, angry, abused, ignored. I’m not sure how to help you except to say don’t be like Homer Simpson.
Homer Simpson – Go crazy? Don’t mind if I do!
These days are crazy, but you and I — we are not crazy.
At least, I believe this would be of the outcome of the yet-to-be-built Anne-scape model.
This ordinary girl truly hopes that you find a way not sell yourself short during these Crazy Days. Buy into caring for your physical, mental, emotional and intellectual self. Support your loved ones. Take time to do something that is uniquely you once in a while.
Crazy days can last a long time, but rarely do they last forever.
