#44: the twin peaks and valleys of consumption and care
walking slowly and sure-footedly into a new year
Time Spent is a series of letters exploring how and why we should read the news, do care work and spend our time. Each letter includes tidbits from research, tips and experiments that are all part of a book project I’m working on, tentatively called Taking Back the News. If you’re new, subscribe here!
Good morning,
I hope you’ve had a restful break over the holidays (for those who have had the opportunity to take time off in the last week). I found it much needed. Never have I packed so much sleep, food, board games, puzzles and movies into a week. I’m now emerging from the puddle of weight I shed by turning my thinking brain off.
Ordinarily, the week between Christmas and New Years is the one in which I leap bountifully into a new year with all sorts of goals and plans for the twelve months ahead. Historically, I have been that person who loves January and Mondays and planners.
But that is changing. I feel far less starry-eyed at newness than I’ve ever felt. I’m less interested in leaving bad things behind in hope of greener pastures.
Strangely, this year I feel more tired and weary than ever before and more clear-headed and capable.
I’ve finally got a theory on why.
The peaks and valleys of consumption
When people around me point to the pandemic as the main culprit in the heaviness we’ve begun to carry around, I generally nod and pass on the reminder whenever a friend wonders why they are feeling out of sorts.
When people point to politics, polarization, misinformation, chaos and crisis as the culprits behind our collective exhaustion, fear and overwhelm, I nod again.
Violence and hatred fueling our hopelessness and sadness? The list goes on.
But the truth is, piece by piece, I can handle knowing about the facts above. I don’t actually feel hopeless or afraid most of the time.
In appropriate packaging, I can see and accept the truth about human beings and the terrible things we do and why. I don’t go in fight, flight or freeze when reading a heartbreaking investigation or watching a documentary about a horrific injustice, or even witnessing it happen on the street.
Usually, I can take a deep breath, ask the needed questions and take what action I need to in the moment. Through the process, each time, I learn a bit more about human beings and this endeavor of life we have all been tasked with.
What I cannot handle, however, is when the information is abrupt, when it interrupts without warning, when it is repeated again and again and I feel as though I am being stoned with it. That’s when I go into fight, flight or freeze.
Often, I find my mind filling in the gaps between atoms of information with an imaginary narrator telling me what kind of person I should be, what kind of action I should be taking and what kind of information I should be consuming.
If this sounds like a long-winded case for slow, in-depth news consumption and against the atomized cacophony of social media, it is. But more than that, it’s a case for knowing ourselves better.
In knowing what allows me to learn, access curiosity and empathy, I’ve made a lot of hard decisions about what, when and how to consume news and information in a way that suits my temperament.
Sometimes that means being the person in room, the journalist in the room who responds, “I didn’t hear about that, sorry, I can’t answer your question,” to a friend or family member asking about a big political story that’s been on TV for days.
Sometimes that means sacrificing my evening, after work, when I would do nothing, to get through a 20,000 word story on a really tough question about the future of our country, because I plan to raise a family in it with my eyes wide open.
Sometimes that means honoring a promise to myself to cap my use of social media on my phone at 30 minutes and when the warning goes off on my screen and no one is enforcing it, I stick with it.
So far, I have found that consuming with intention and self-integrity leads to 1) yes—a somber awareness about where we are, but also 2) a type of a learning that is my own unique adventure through the chaos, in which I feel capable of both responding and knowing when to respond.
The peaks and valleys of care
At the same time, living with your eyes wide open is a heavy life. Awareness is not easy. Human beings have long grappled with the troublesome questions that come with knowing.
But just like the peaks and valleys of consumption, I find that the peaks and valleys of care are dictated by me.
Often, we care reactively: the kind of care that comes long after I’ve passed my tolerance level for exhaustion, or difficult information, or a lifestyle choice I have long outgrown but continue out of habit.
Only when our minds or bodies can no longer deal with the consequences of neglect do we act: we finally rest, or change our job, or get to the gym, or go to the doctor or call a friend.
Less often, we care proactively: Much like the job done by parents for children, proactive care is the kind of care that requires us to figure out how to nurture ourselves in order to have a good shot at making it in the world with a sound body, mind and spirit.
When I started this newsletter, I wanted to dedicate space to precisely this task—teaching myself to view care as work and value and invest in it as if it was a job someone paid me to do.
It was fortuitous timing, entering both my thirties and a pandemic armed with the intention to hold a lot of space for myself, asking frequently and systematically: What do I need this week to feel fulfilled and healthy? What can I remove that doesn’t need to be here? What can I add that will help me grow?
So far that has looked like becoming disciplined in very small ways and slowly seeing the accumulation have impact.
It has looked like asking for help rather than going it alone; throwing out entire narratives around success and social etiquette that do not serve anyone who plans to be happy in the world we currently live in; redefining what rest, work and productivity mean to me in the grand scheme of life, knowing how quickly it can go; dedicating more time to giving, knowing it nourishes both the giver and receiver.
And so far, I have found that caring with intention and self-integrity has created a sustainable lightness around the heavy stories I consume and exchange, and it has allowed me to give more than I could if depleted.
Moving into a new year
What I didn’t expect was that the peaks and valleys of care and consumption are very much twins. They often appear together and reinforce each other, in both the bad ways and good.
So, as we close out this year, rather than leaping into 2022 with buoyant expectations, I want to head in slowly and sure-footedly with an expanded capacity to both enjoy and suffer through the experiences of life in healthy way.
Because we live in an age of information, I can’t think of a better way for the individual human being to empower themselves than by learning how to care and consume with self-integrity.
I’ll do my best to explore this more carefully next year. For those who gave me feedback on the survey I put in the last issue, thank you very much. It’s wonderful knowing what you all want to hear more about and what you are getting out of this project so far. If you haven’t filled it out but would still like to, here’s the link again.
I’ll be back in early January with a piece on how I build my news diet these days.
Until then, I hope everyone gives themselves a small pocket of time this week, to think about how you’d like to care and consume differently next year.
Warmly,
Jihii
Such a breath of fresh air. I related to and needed this today. Thank you!