Warning: This is not an especially funny post, so if you're looking for that, check back here later. I always return to humor because I'm good at it 53% of the time and I like being above average. I also find that humor builds worlds.
This is a navel-gazer.
Starting out with a sentence that surprises exactly no one: there is a lot of pain in the world. Always is. Always will be. The pain gets passed around. We all take turns hurting and fearing.
Hopefully, we all also take turns listening. When the world is crazy on a macro- or micro-level, listening is always an excellent choice, especially when we’re bereft of ideas on how to fix anything or an understanding of what the hell is happening.
The problem is we as a species are not great at listening.
I wrote a piece sharing my infinitesimally small part of the world, a piece where I see wedges shoved everywhere, agonizing and isolating. A piece that acknowledges too much or maybe not enough.
For the first time in my life, I am self-censoring for the worst possible reasons. Or maybe the best.
Ideologically opposed people are screaming the same vile things while telling those of us directly impacted by current events, no matter the “side”— to shut up. To them, our upset is something they want to immediately contextualize, minimizing one person or another’s anguish, and distancing everyone. Wake up. What did you expect? Don't look away. This is on you. Now you know how they feel. Now they know how you feel. This is false. This is true. All less-than-great ways of espousing an unforgivable What do you know? before powering down their phones for the night.
Their lenses, clearly, are much less smudged than ours.
So I sit here today not writing, or at least not writing fully, and not sharing. Not that piece, and not about the novel that I've been working on for five years which deals with politics, religion, and also an elusive hamburger, which is hopefully the least controversial part of the book.
Ask any writer how that feels. Not the hamburger thing, the not-writing thing. Mileage varies on hamburgers in the writing community.
And I say this about not-writing having already been doxxed. Having been mailed threats (and worse) because of pieces I've written. Having received a lot of online attention when a Newsmax personality tweeted my name to some well-regulated folks who were very upset about the 2020 election.
And then there was that one granny in Minnesota who said it was really unfortunate I used the word "fuck" in one of my McSweeney's pieces because that meant she couldn't share it with her rabbi.
All those were separate. And after each, I wrote, fueled, and renewed. (Including a nice note to the granny where I offered to send her the piece with the word "fuck" crossed out. She didn't reply.) I wrote undeterred mostly because I usually write topical humor pieces and not a ton of people care after the initial hahas. Ephemeral by nature.
Today I pause. Maybe that's a good thing. Do I think anyone needs to hear my sludgy, non-funny thoughts -- aside from these, I mean? No more than usual. Maybe my voice doesn't need to be in the air right now and my thoughts can go unshared -- aside from these here, also. Probably. But I just don’t know right now, and in my experience, that’s a good time to slow down and keep listening.
I'm self-censoring because I want to be sure my words don't cause harm. I mean, that's just good writing, good thinking, and good peopling. I would hope that’s my default, now more than ever.
I’m self-censoring because I don’t want to self-center.
I'm self-censoring to be sure my words don't hurt me and my family.
I’m self-censoring and I want to make sure it is out of compassion, not out of fear. Right now, my fear and compassion are curdling in an unpleasant, frothy stew and I can’t quite skim one from the other. At some point, I hope for clarity and from there a better determination of where the writing goes from here.
That's the truth, the discomfort, the team. That's the reality and the danger and the very thing I try to fight.
I like writing. I like sharing. I even like that Minnesota granny because I think she meant well and her worry was just about the sweetest, funniest fucking thing ever. I like the other piece I wrote about The World Now and I really like my book. And I need to figure out if they need to flash an ankle in the world, or if they need to cozy up to a bottom drawer somewhere.
And before you rush to encourage me to share, please know there are horseshoes to dodge first, and certainly miles of stories to go before we sleep.
Cool. Thanks. Off to write something that hits the 53% funny mark, although I fear someone will kindly tell me this has already made them laugh, and maybe not in such a world-building way.
I hear you, and I love you. And I've been thinking about you, and the whole mess of a world in which we're all stewing. Please don't ever silence your voice (and also I completely understand the impulse to self-censor at the moment ❤️)
❤️🌼 these are listening emojis. The Minnesota granny would effing love this essay. She would!