“I give light.”
That is what I tell myself; I give light in the dark because we need to know where to go. We need to see that there is another side. We need to see that there is so much more. There are still things to be seen in the dark—news reports, press conferences, memes, and nonsense, but it doesn’t keep us moving out of the darkness. Rather it makes us complacent and comfortable and overly cautious. Light is the antidote: it keeps us moving, it keeps us awake, and it keeps us optimistic that we don’t have to stay in this space because there’s more to do and see if we keep going. But I have nothing to give anymore. I have run empty in my quest to provide, and I feel like it’s time to make that known. And so, I offer an amendment to my statement:
“I give light, when I have light to give.”
Consider this the first step to my overall expression of my capacity. I have hit my ceiling. I am in need of light and positivity but it seems, along with toilet paper, that, too, has been ransacked at every local grocery store. What’s worse is that I am so accustomed to giving and, by some deeply rooted narcissism, I feel that I am owed by others to give me what I have given them— “I am out of light, lend me some of yours.” But so few have light left to lend. It’s a sobering realization, that in the world we find ourselves, we are equally in need of light and are in a deficit.
So what can you do? What should you do? Is there a right and a wrong? Is there a good and a bad? What binary sentiment can be applied to this evolving catastrophe that helps the masses make sense out of the senseless? What’s the precedence and where the fuck are all the answers?
Screaming postulations into the void never once wrought actionable insight, but it felt good to get that off my chest and into somewhere else, if only for a moment. A small solace in a time with so few wins.
I wish I had the answers. I wish anyone had the answers. For the last week, all I’ve been doing is seeking out any possible sources of sustainability. Seeking out ways to keep myself and my friends and family moving. Yet as the days went by, I continued to find myself moving slower and slower, and then…I stopped moving. I gave in to the news reports, the press conferences, the memes, and the nonsense. It felt like a weight on my chest, keeping me content and in place, capable of only feeling and experiencing the darkness. I reached for help, but how can another in the same position offer anything different? Someone as weighed down will only compound the weight.
It’s inevitable. It’s debilitating. But it’s also ephemeral.
Metaphorically weighted to the ground, I focused on what I could control. All external factors were off the table. The darkness and the news and the nonsense are all constants in this world, regardless of a pandemic. So I indulged as much as I dared and then turned my mind to what makes me happier: music, nature, love, baking, anything to put a smile on my face even though a smile felt as foreign as the Welsh language. I also began to realize that not everyone is as weighed down, and they were willing and able to help. It’s with their aid, that I was able to focus; I felt myself recharging. I felt myself become lighter. Even now, I am not fully there, but I’m getting closer by taking the time to recognize and acknowledge where I am, how i’m feeling, and fostering communication with the ones I love.
I suppose, then, there is one semblance of an answer I can provide, though results may vary:
If the weight becomes too heavy and all you see is dark—Focus inward, even though it feels cold and callous. Push forward, even if you can’t see clearly. Recharge your batteries, and know that you are fucking light.
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