Head Wind

It was a bright and blustery day that had the proverbial feeling of March in its leonine entry mode. I rode my bicycle in the valley, straight into a head wind, working harder than I thought I’d have to, but it was fun. Where the road narrowed, orchards broadened, and the branches of the trees were knobbed with tiny pink buds, and the grass was tall, and wild oats flickered in the sunlight. I’m sure I’ve said this before, but it’s so breathtakingly lovely around here lately that I feel I am living my life under a sort of spell, drunk with beauty, distracted and enchanted constantly. Entire odes could be written just to describe the green of the hills this year.

And yet, I find that one of my biggest challenges lately is to avoid becoming disillusioned, alienated, even cynical. In the national arena, I am discouraged by the sluggish pace of health care reform, the unappealing insights revealed to us each day about the realities of governance, politics, and elements of the populace. I’m appalled, too, by what’s happening (or not happening) in so many of our schools, and I fear for a country where literacy and education are not the paramount priorities, because it seems to me that ignorance is the most monumental barrier to addressing other problems. But I guess I’m just venting here, which it isn’t very useful.

It’s coming to the surface, you see, because of a meandering conversation we had atour book club meeting last night, which didn’t even relate to the book, butsometimes we get off on tangents, and this bleak tangent was about education inparticular and the state of the world in general. One member said that with theworld as it is and likely to become, she was thankful that she had no childrenor grandchildren to worry about -- such a sad sentiment. Another tearfullyproclaimed, “I’m 79 years old. What can I really do about any of it?” At this,someone brought up the example of Greg Mortenson and his schools for Afghangirls. “One person can do a lot,” she said. “You just have to choose your causeand be willing to dedicate your life to it.”

But seriously, how many of us are going to do that? I wish I were more heroic andunselfish, but as E.B. White said, “I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day.” A delicate balance is needed, and I have yet to find it. (Although I have observed that beatingup on myself doesn’t satisfy either of the two desires.)

It brings to mind a song by Brett Dennen called There is So Much More, which I think of as a sort of anthem of liberal guilt, and that doesn’t mean I don’t love it. Dennen wonders “how so many can be in so much pain”; then he curses his whiteness, gets depressed, and asks, “In a world with suffering/Why should I be so blessed?” Now there’s a question without an easy answer, but I think there is hope whenever it is asked. Yes, it seems to me the danger would be to take one’s good fortune for granted, or feel smugly deserving and tune out the rest. Once you know it’s mostly luck and doesn’t necessarily correlate with virtue or merit, there comes a sense of humility, compassion, and responsibility towards others. Then, of course, you have to figure out what to do with this consciousness.

And at the same time, you want to enjoy the day.

Perfectly timed to aggravate the vague uneasiness that this dilemma engenders in me, Icame upon an article today by Thomas Nagel in the New York Review of Books aboutmoral philosopher Peter Singer. I haven’t even finished reading the article, but Singer’s latest book is called The Life You Can Save: Acting Now to End World Poverty, and he writes about the ethical responsibility of well-off people in affluent societies to help those living in poverty elsewhere in the world. In his view, this translates into donating a rather hefty percentage of one’s income to aid agencies and then just living more simply -- dramatically so, in ways you will feel -- on what is left. He says he does not mean to make us feel guilty, but there it is.

And I hope you aren’t expecting any kind of resolution to all this weariness, anxiety, and guilt. It’s just a blog post, after all, and not a very cohesive one. The best I can come up with is what I wrote in an email to that 79-year old lady from the book club, and it is also what I try to tell myself:

"I wish we could all be like Greg Mortenson and dedicate our lives to changing the world in big ways. I think for most of us, though, we just have to try to make a difference where we can, and I wouldn’t discount whatever good we can do within our own families andcommunities, and with our individual work, our voices, our votes, our charitable donations, and everyday kindnesses, even small ones. Which is my way of saying that you have made a positive difference in the world and continue to do so. And when we feel discouraged and overwhelmed, I guess we should just try to transform that into determination, maybe think a little smaller, but don’t give up."

After sending that off, I went for my bike ride, and as I told you at the start, it was straight into a head wind, exhausting and exhilarating, and the world winked and dazzled...and nothing was solved.