The Weight of It

There’s a particular kind of frustration that comes from watching something happen, like watching a car crash in slow motion, like watching your child fall off a bike, like watching Israel and the US military tearing more schools and buildings apart with bombs.

It is hollowing — not shock, because I think I stopped being shocked somewhere along the way — but something quieter and more corrosive.

Helplessness.

Insignificance.

I keep thinking about all the ordinary people on the ground who had nothing to do with the decisions made in diplomatic spaces and war rooms. People with families, routines, small joys and meaningful lives.

I don’t have a tidy political analysis to offer. Maybe though we can stop tuning into the sadistic news reports, the talking heads who grow their audience on the backs of misery and outrage. What nuance do they really offer?

Sit with this moment for a while before filling your mind with the points of view of others.