Originally posted on LinkedIn on Nov 10, 2023
My friend Suzanne Bates brought my attention to Mya Guarnieri Jaradat’s piece in the Guardian.I was moved by the inner conflict which Ms Guarnieri, a left-leaning Israeli, described, her conversations with her Palestinian ex-husband, the heart-wrenching question of what to tell their children.
https://lnkd.in/ebXUS3f2
In reading it, I was reminded of another piece of mid-20th century writing, “A Grief Observed” by N.W. Clark, which my wife Florence introduced to me. Published in 1961 as the author’s memoirs in processing his wife’s fight with and eventual death from cancer, I find it hard to read in the same way Mya’s journal is hard to read. I have not made it through the memoirs because I find myself emotionally saturated after but a few pages. Among the many candid reflections that arrest my progress is this: “No one ever told me that grief felt so much like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid.”
Is this what we are all going through? Are we all feeling afraid, and does this sense of fear comes from a deep sense of grief? We seem to have lost so much in the past decade: time, friends, family, opportunity, civility, trust, respect, peace. Our loss is without boundary: COVID invaded our bodies, our minds, our schools and our homes. The weakness of our institutions eroded our faith in society’s self-healing capacity. The evidence of grief pierces the veneer of all human endeavor, especially work. We are tempted to blame bosses for our dissatisfaction, but deep inside we know they are just like us: they have no answers either, and the sense of loss is thereby amplified. We are hollowed out, carrying on, grasping for something solid to hold on to. I think grief feels like fear because the solid ground has dissolved beneath our feet.
Is this why, on the streets and in social media, outrage has somehow become the only acceptable outlet, or indicator, for moral anger? Am I alone in thinking this is in error - and the error is compounded by the followed and the followers alike? Does outrage feel good because it gives voice to the anger we feel in grief? I know it does for me - but is there something more I should demand of myself? If I have fallen short, how do I walk forward, away from my complicity?
What will inevitably happen for Mya’s children, is happening to us: this generation is learning for itself, as each generation does, the unbearable reality that the world is difficult and unkind and there is nobody extending the shelter of innocence.
How do we find the humanity in ourselves, and see it in others, to reclaim our self-belief? Perhaps if we can, fear will recede and we will find both solid ground and common purpose; perhaps confronting fear through grace will resolve our grief; perhaps from grace springs something new.
Hope.