Last week when the news of war in some other part of the world, away from where I live, was breaking out I was busy being part of a ‘kelvan’ for a cousin while placing an order for a birthday cake on the side for another friend. Both occasions of celebration and joy. First the uncertainty and loss of the last two years and now this. So me being part of celebrations somewhere all feels illicit. No? How can we be celebrating?

But how can we not? We can do nothing about most things. And looking away can feel callous. I read somewhere that neither numbness nor ambiguous despair is of any use to anybody. Both are a form of escape. (see can’t even remember where I read it! Or maybe it’s my restless brain finally learning to slow down and forgetting to remember).

Everything changes. I am mourning the loss of a friend. Not in the physical, literal sense. But Kafkaesque. Somewhere it all feels surreal. Because you can do nothing when another person is on the brink of breakdown and transformation. Also, how do you grieve someone who is still in your life? The only thing you can do is hope. And wait. In hope and anticipation.

What remains are small acts of defiance. I run on the same route, visit the same spots. Drink morning coffee while listening to birdsongs and watch dramatic sunsets while drinking evening tea. I show up for myself and the people in my life. Most times. On some days it’s just plain difficult. My heart rate these days defies the runner’s defiance by lowering itself. Some changes are welcome tho? I should be happier for the trouble my heart is taking to slow down and pump all the new oxygen in my bloodstream to cleanse my insides. I joked with another friend, about how we runners will outlive most people, and then all this cleansing won’t feel fun.

Late last year I took an insane (for me) but quite popular, capitalist decision. I joked to another friend, sure the world is ending, climate change is real but I am going to buy expensive fuel because I can. That too in the awareness of all the suffering we are privy to in a personal way. But in the backseat of the same car I taught M how to eat an orange properly. We lounged on the backseat on a long drive and drew kitty-cats and pretended to sleep. We made memories. We shared tiny, fleeting moments of sanity and calm.

On another hand is the policy course thats teaching us about the information age and information war. There are online debates, Pros, and cons. We all have opinions based on our limited but evolving understanding of the world. We think one side is winning. While everyone suffers.

What can we do? What can I do? Maybe being distressed by distress is a sign of sanity? Maybe just showing up every day and doing what needs to be done is what can be done?

P.S. Read a post by Marie Andrew later today that said something similar ‘The fact that suffering, beauty, and mundanity coincide is unbearable and remarkable. ‘ She, of course, expresses it better.