Everything Is Different

Dearest Orchid,

This is a week late. In the days leading up to last Sunday, I would fleetingly remember that I had to write *something* but came up staggeringly empty. Thought, reading, discussion, feeling — they have all been centered on the war in Ukraine, and there was no space for anything else.

Is this week different? Probably not, but I know I need to write, and our Dialogue provides both a reason and a space to exorcise some of this turbulent darkness.

A small disclaimer: I have consumed mostly news the past 3.5 weeks, the majority via the written word in Russian, and the creative part of my brain has suffered for it. As a result, this writing is stunted and uninspired at best, yet personally necessary. Onward!

Where Are We At?

This is a royal we because I speak only for myself. I alternate between deep sadness and fiery anger, all the time. Patience is long gone. Empathy comes in and out, like watching TV through a shitty over-the-air antenna.

There are moments when the topic of thought or conversation is something mundane, but these are in the minority. Getting “off-topic” offers both relief and uneasiness. Everyone needs a break, of course. But not paying attention via multiple sources to what’s happening daily feels like an abdication of duty, the only one I have, given that I’m a continent and an ocean away.

I’ve shared more stuff on social media the past several weeks than I normally do…ever. The outlier sharing is war-focused. For once, it’s unthinkable to not share.

The Personal

There are some awful, previously unconsidered personal side-effects to Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, beyond the most obvious. Distinct cracks emerge in personal relationships, which would have gone unnoticed or ignored, before. You avoid talking to some folks because you realize their position on this conflict might differ from yours. You really don’t want to find out that they’re buying into the Russian propaganda about the Nazis and nationalists that Ukraine must be saved from.

This constant level of agitation and vigilance strains the nervous system. Our ability to relate to others, to care about most things, to perceive in shades of gray — falling to great lows. I know my writing is filled with non-specific descriptors. It’s honestly because a lot of these moments are still unfurling. But sometimes, you can just tell there are looming repercussions on the horizon. Once again, beyond the obvious ones.

This is grief. And it will last long after this war is concluded. We are in for an endless journey, and the current estimate is it’ll take generations for Ukrainians to forgive this epic transgression. Everything is different.

A Reference To Something Normal, Which I’ll Immediately Connect Back To The War

Okay, onto some bullshit. I’m halfway through watching Taylor Tomlinson’s new Netflix special, Look At You, and there’s a bit that stuck with me. If you’re the kind of person who feels strongly about comedy, then maybe this is a spoiler? I don’t know…just covering my bases, here. You’ve been warned. Also, I would have just posted a clip, but I couldn’t find one? Thanks, YouTube. And Netflix. And Obama.

The bit: Taylor describes going to therapy, with her therapist helping her figure out why she is the way she is. She then asks the therapist if the work’s done now — oh no, you’ll be coming back weekly; bring your credit card! So she asks the therapist how long it’ll take — I don’t know, bring your credit card!

This is exactly how I feel about what’s coming after all these events complete their terrible unfolding. It’ll be so much grueling work (emotional, psychological, physical) for an undetermined amount of time, though surely lengthy — bring your credit card!

As Per Your Last Communiqué

I haven’t forgotten your original prompt, and I’ll answer it, although I’ve struggled to recall any memory in shades other than sepia, with scenes missing.

I think it’s more a scenario than a true memory because I’ve experienced this in several places, and all the recollections have started to bleed into one another.

Sitting on the edge of a wide body of water (from my personal vault: Lake Michigan, Pacific Ocean, Atlantic Ocean, Caribbean Sea, Red Sea, Black Sea), staring out at the horizon, as a warm breeze stirs the air. Toes buried in the toasty sand, the heat of the sun streaming through dappled shade. The sound of waves gently lapping at the shore, of wind roaming over the water and land, of seagulls calling out to one another. The landscape carries the distinct scent of water — seaweed, a hint of salt, the indescribable smell of watery freedom. A cold drink sweating condensation, precariously perched on the towel-covered sand, its taste sharper, sweeter, colder because of the setting. The feeling in this moment: quiet calm, far away from the cacophony of the world, sensory information of the now overtaking all thought and concern.

Thank you for bringing me back to this moment of peace. I really did need it.

Here’s to finding ourselves on the edge of a waterbody soon, drink in hand and senses filled with nothing but that instant in time.

Love,

Aster

P.S. You ever have a moment of clarity, where you see your tendencies on someone else and realize it’s not a good look? Maybe you decide it’s time for a change, or perhaps it’s an opportunity for acceptance of self. It could be something small, a throw-away feature; or it’s something quite defining about you, and it shakes up your self-perception. I’d love to hear about it. (Or, you can absolutely discuss where you’re at with current events because having a space to let it all out is freakin’ important.)

I’ve always been an interrupter in conversations. My mind moves quickly, I can see where the other side is headed, and I jump in with my thoughts before my discussion partner has a chance to finish. I never mean anything bad by it. I’ve actually considered it an efficient approach to keep things moving forward. I’m sure I grew up with this style of conversation, and I’m therefore very used to it. I should add — I don’t care if I’m interrupted, either.

But I was recently in a situation where my discussion partner interrupted me at every turn, and they clearly did not know where I was going. The personal topic we were discussing became unbearable for me, because I just felt constantly cut off, silenced. I wanted to leave the conversation, and couldn’t; it all just sucked. The resulting aha moment — there’s a good chance I’ve made others feel this way, and that’s really shitty. I’d like to do better, listen more, approach conversations differently.

[Currently listening to: Mondo Bongo by Joe Strummer & The Mescaleros, from the Mr. and Mrs. Smith (2005) soundtrack (here’s the atmospheric scene from the movie). This is an ultimate sitting-on-the-water’s-edge song, enjoying the salty breeze with an icy drink to offset the balmy day.]