The Bummer of being a Citizen of a Small Planet

This may be the single most selfish perspective one could ever share regarding the great troubles going on around the world, but I’m going to share it anyway. Today I am struck by how heartbreaking it is to live in a well-connected world.

It is sometimes hard for me to muster a lighthearted, hopeful, seize-the-day mentality when I am faced with story after story of poverty, crisis, injustice and struggle. This is not a new issue, but one that I have really been feeling in recent weeks.

Egypt, Libya, and now Japan have taken turns capturing my heart and my imagination. People–good people, complex people, people strikingly similar to me–are struggling desperately to protect their families from cruel dictators, wanton rebels, toxic floodwaters, and potential nuclear meltdowns. It is hard not to feel tremendous sadness, grief, desperation and pity at times like this, or at least to feel them in proportion to my actual power to elicit change or bring comfort.

I feel a bit jealous of my ancestors who struggled to meet their own basic needs, helped out their neighbors, but generally stayed blissfully unaware of the pain felt by those outside their immediate network. It is sometimes a burden to be so connected.

And yet I choose, day after day, to turn on NPR and hear the stories of husband, wives, fathers, mothers, children, fighters, protesters and school teachers who are up against great adversity. Am I just an information addict? A masochist? No. I guess that deep in my heart I hope that if I at least know their stories, if I hurt for them in whatever way I can, then maybe it is a comfort, a connector.

And while this is essentially a complaining post, I am nonetheless brought back to gratitude. I’ve never been comfortable with the idea of looking at the struggles of others as an opportunity to be thankful for my own peace. It just strikes me as narcissistic and disconnected (much like some of this post, you might argue). But I feel gratitude nonetheless, for the fact that my child is safe and happy, that my husband doesn’t have to carry a weapon, that I am likely to avoid being raped or even harassed today, that our house, at last check, is upright and stable. I reject any notion that I deserve these things more than others or am chosen more than others. I am in the right place at the right time, this time. That’s it.

I am humble, sad, grateful, and heartbroken.

And I am not much in the mood to talk travel.