So the world is at war again. I guess it’s just a thing humans love to do when they have power — throw lives at other lives and see if it helps them get more power.
As it should be, the news is all over this. Countless stories and horrors are coming out of Eastern Europe every day, and I appreciate that I cannot get away from the coverage. I hop in the car, turn on the radio, and there it is, a story about how the Ukrainians are putting up an incredible fight with just their impromptu volunteer army; I sit down at the local phở spot and it’s there on the TV, Anderson Cooper wearing a thick winter jacket, talking to some expert about the implications of a fire at a huge nuclear power plant; I open my phone, and there’s a headline about how Russian Americans living in New York are thinking about it, which side they’re on and why.
Right now, Ukrainian families are fleeing war zones in the millions, both internally within Ukraine and to other neighboring countries. Meanwhile, NATO country leaders are working hard to not trip off a world war.
We have to know what’s going on. That’s the truth.
At a certain point however, it starts to take its toll. We’re losing sleep. Friends tell me they can’t turn their phones off; they’re getting nightmares every night; they can’t disconnect from the horrors. It’s so bad that it’s good, addictive in a way, and we forget that it has such a profound impact on us.
We hope that by knowing more, by reading more, by absorbing more that we’ll be able to help in some way.
Here’s the thing, you can always know more. But knowing alone isn’t enough. To really help we need to call upon more within ourselves.
I grew up the child of immigrants. My mother and her whole family came from Vietnam, fleeing at the very last moments of the fall of Saigon. My father came here with an entrepreneur’s dream and a life savings of pocket change. Many of you (wish I could say all) know me as a kind, generous, and hardworking person. Today, I work at a company that’s working overtime to create housing stability through establishing financial identities for low and medium income Americans.
How did this happen? How did my family come here with so little and yet I and many others like me are able to work comfortably on such meaningful initiatives?
The answer is: through the support of millions of unseen factors and the kindness of total strangers. My Vietnamese family was “adopted” (the only way out of the refugee military barracks spread throughout the nation in the late 1970s) by a church community in Louisiana. Had this parish not done this, my family would have been splintered and dispersed, forced to assimilate without being able to hold onto the things that make my family so strong and beautiful. At the same time the American people voted to elect representatives and pass policies in Congress that made this country welcoming and supportive for my family. While my father didn’t come here under such extreme circumstances, many of the same things, like support from countless individuals and institutions, hold true.
I bring this up because I think the first thing we can do when confronted with horror is to reflect on beauty. What does it mean to think about what a truly good outcome would look like? When we shift into that frame, the horror doesn’t lessen of course, but we experience paths clearing before us: the way out, or the way forward. (Side note, this kind of thinking is also what I do for work.) It creates a sense of gratitude. Gratitude works miracles in us, as we all know. It humbles us, clarifies for us what really matters in the end, creates enormous energy, and it opens us up to be able to give love to others because we acknowledge we’ve received it, knowingly or unknowingly.
When it comes to dealing with horrors and finding ways to help, the second thing we need is the skill of checking in with ourselves and giving ourselves care when we need it. It’s actually really hard to stop while you’re reading or watching something totally engrossing and say, how am I doing right now? How is this content affecting me? The reason this is important is because when we go down these rabbit holes, we forget we have limits. We forget we have needs. We forget we have a body. This key part of mindfulness practice can and should be used to help us maintain our energy and focus on what the reality is and what part we can play in it.
We can pour ourselves a cup of tea. We can take a quiet walk with a friend. We can stop to feel what someone else might be feeling right now, fleeing from a war zone with a child on their back. As my teacher would always say, a single breath taken in mindfulness can be a revolutionary act. To really make change, we need to play the long game. And that means taking care of ourself as well as others. It means carving out the moments needed to connect with ourselves, the people around us, and those farther away.
The last thing I want to say is, to keep us in the game, we need to lean on each other. None of us is an island, much less so during times like these. Phone a friend when you’re feeling down, phone a friend when you’re feeling up! Bring a gift to that person who just moved into your neighborhood. We can take care of each other because we know we’re playing the long game.
Collective action is part of this too — and essential! Join a petition to welcome refugees into your state or county or neighborhood. Make public art. Make it easy for politicians to do what you feel is the right thing. Everything we do that makes our impact greater, more long-lasting, and sustainable requires us to work with others. So take care of and nurture these relationships. You don’t have to like everyone you work with, but you can love them. Pausing to check in with ourselves is a great way to learn how to get better at pausing to check in with others.
So the world is at war again, and we need to be prepared to take care of it — and ourselves. Dear friends, I hope all of this is stuff you knew already, and I hope the reminder helps you stay sane and grounded out there. Sending you all my best.
