Bubble Boy
Mariah says that I live in a bubble, because I don’t keep up on The News.
I keep up on news that has to do with coronavirus in Alaska, especially in Bristol Bay, where I will be going fishing in a couple weeks. She keeps up on the governor's press conferences here in Colorado, which is news that affects our day-to-day life.
But, in seeking out the news that is relevant to us, she gets bombarded by everything else, too. When I manage to avoid it, she feels burdened, like she has to keep me informed.
So, I read some online news this morning, and I think I can go for another week or two without it. It’s not really news to me. There are still people out there trying to help people, and there are still people out there who are scared.
Some people are taking the coronavirus personally, believing that it is government overreach, or a conspiracy. They are angry about being told to stay home, but were they doing anything important before? Were any of them protesting about women being told what to do with their bodies?
It doesn’t seem like the people protesting with guns are upset over lost wages, it seems like they are protesting being told what to do. If they were true rugged individualists, they would embrace this excuse to self-isolate, and they wouldn’t depend on wages to live.
This morning, I also learned about the shooting in the Kabul maternity ward. What a sad sack thing to do.
When I hear about people doing things like that, and people like Trump, I try to empathize. Some people's kids, I say to myself, trying to remember that no one can completely decide who they are. Everyone is a product of their circumstances to some degree, whether it's their parents skin color, net worth, or religious beliefs, or lack of parents. I’ve been aware of it since middle school, the fact that most bullies didn’t get messed up on their own.
Mariah was happy that I had gotten caught up on the news, so I had some idea of what she’s been dwelling on.
She empathizes automatically, but her focus is more on the victims. It isn’t a conscious decision to cope, like it is for me.
“I feel everything, for everyone, all the time,” she says, “And when you don’t have any idea what I’m thinking about, I feel completely alone here.”
So I’ll try to check the news a little more regularly, but only to share the load a little.
Some nights, we have the energy to watch some TV after Levi goes to bed. We don’t watch the news. We like Westworld, even though its version of the future is far from family friendly. The character Dolores sums up my attitude when she says, “Some people choose to see the ugliness in this world, the disarray. I choose to see the beauty. To believe there is an order to our days. A purpose.” That’s how I feel connected to the world, through beauty, order, and purpose.
I write most mornings, mostly memories, which reminds me of all the people I’m connected to. When Levi wakes up and starts crying, I pull him out of the crib and give him a banana to keep him busy while I make coffee. I go and sit with Mariah and Levi and our dog Randy, and drink coffee in bed.
The rest of the morning is a blur of cooking, changing diapers, filling sippy cups with milk, strapping and unstrapping Levi from the high chair, wiping up oatmeal or eggs or beans off the table, starting laundry, and knowing where Levi is in the house.
When he takes a nap, I do yoga, then get to cutting firewood, hanging laundry in the sun, doing dishes, and checking email. I make more coffee. I stop to watch when a train passes through the valley below, past the highway, and the meadow that looks good for a moose, and the swollen creek. I saw three patchy elk walk by our house today.
If not keeping up with The News means that I live in a bubble, then is the most informed person floating on the surface? Are they hanging in mid-air? Wherever they are, they are apparently exposed to everything, and can’t help but be perturbed by every raindrop and breeze. When calm, all they can do is imitate the sky.
Bubbles are not completely unaffected by their surroundings, though. The deeper they are underwater, the more pressure is on them, compacting them. So, you can’t judge a bubble by its size. You have to account for how much pressure it’s experiencing.
I think Mariah and I are in our own bubbles, hers just happens to be closer to the surface. She gets swirled around more by the goings on above, while I react to the pressure by shrinking my sphere of concern.
Both will end up popping on the surface. But maybe we will rise near each other. Maybe as the pressure lessens and we expand, we will merge before we burst.