In
the past week or so, I’ve come across three very different publications, each
of which seemed particularly profound to me, so I wanted to pass on the
recommendation that you catch them when you can.
The
first is an amazing issue of National Geographic, “The Firsts Issue.” They had me with the cover. The lead story is “The First American,” and the cover shows a drawing of a teenage girl based on a 12,000-year-old skull recently
discovered in a cave in Mexico. The girl’s DNA confirmed that
contemporary Native American populations are descended from a Eurasian/East Asian population that was isolated (between the current continents) for about 10,000 years
before making it to this continent—although many of her physical characteristics look
very different from contemporary Native peoples. There’s much more to that
immigration than I ever knew. I found it fascinating, speaking straight to my curiosity about human evolution
and archaeology.
But there’s more. An associated story explores the “first
artists” and the “birth of art”—including evidence of symbolic expression long
before the famous caves of Europe. My favorite line: "The beauty whipsaws your sense of time. One moment, you are anchored in the present, observing coolly. The next you are seeing the paintings as if all other art—all civilization—has
yet to exist.” It gave me goose bumps.
 |
| Computer simulation of one of the first stars in the universe, exploding through dark matter to seed the universe with elements |
Then there’s the article on a “first glimpse of the hidden cosmos” – which is about another of my favorite topics, the evolution of the universe. Another explores the “first year,” with interesting new findings and a range of stories about the importance of the first year of life. And more – the first city of Nigeria (Lagos), the first artificially conceived penguin (Magellenic), the first continent (called “Pangaea” by Wegener, who, in 1915, first theorized the existence and movement of tectonic plates), the “first bird” (bald eagle, in much less glamorous form than usual), and on it goes. It’s so great!
The second piece was a great column by David Brooks—who so often makes me think, hard, about complex topics (even though I disagree with many aspects of his political leanings). This was an article called “The Child in the Basement,” a commentary on Ursula Le Guin’s short story “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas” (which you can read right here). Brooks’ brief overview of the story is gripping itself, and his analysis has left me thinking all day. He explores the parable beneath this story—on one level, a cautionary tale about who we are willing to be as a society (a species?). And on another level, one about who we are willing to be to ourselves.
Brooks doesn’t tie this story or his commentary to any
particular current event, but the connections seem clear and multiple to me:
Ferguson, New York, Cleveland, Paris, Gaza, Syria. Maybe next door. Almost
certainly in each of our own lives, the risk of losing the “idealism and moral
sensitivity” represented by “the shivering child in the basement.” Be prepared
to be stretched.
And
the final piece caught me off guard. I was actually set up (unknowingly) for my strong
reaction to this column by my recent struggles with orthopedic problems. After weeks (heck,
months) of very distressing limitations on my activities, I’m gradually (very
gradually) getting way better, and gradually coming to accept that this is
the body I’ll have now. It’s actually not going to be fixed up “as good as new.”
Nope. “Life miles,” in my orthopedist’s words, will mean that this is how it will be. I realize that my limitations, the
consequences of my “life miles” are really quite minor. It’s just that they sometimes
feel so demoralizing. So I’ve been in a funky mood about this, but I keep reminding
myself that I’m in a funk about this,
not in general. Or, as I said to my
partner, I keep reminding myself that I’m distressed about this turn of
affairs. I’m not depressed. To which she responded: Right, that’s not
depression. It’s loss and grief.
So,
I got a serious lump in my throat when I read this piece, “Getting Grief Right.” The column, written by a therapist, is actually about dealing with the
loss (death) of a loved one—an experience that folks in my generation are becoming increasingly familiar with. This piece challenges the sometimes simplistic
models of how grief necessarily happens—in stages, in sequence, with a
definable ending to each and a process that brings us to “acceptance.”
Preferably soon. I appreciated the openness of this discussion of grief, the space it gives to each individual's path. The story at the heart of the column put my own distress in perspective. At the same time, noticing my strong reaction to that story, I knew it was tapping into my own sorrow—about multiple recent and potential losses, including the loss of robust physical health. The invitation to deal with loss in your own way and at your own pace applies, I realized, to all forms of loss, including to losing the physical well-being that you’ve taken so for granted. Grief is what it is. There’s no “right” way to do
it. The process is like a story, not an examination, and you write it yourself. The piece quotes the
Danish author Isak Dinesen: “All
sorrows can be borne if you tell a story about them.” So I’m now trying to craft
a new story of my life that includes the the costs of glorious life miles. Maybe I'll get to acceptance as the story unfolds, but not
because it's time to “get over it.” I’ll likely be writing more
about it here. Meanwhile, check out this column. Worth the read, whether or
not you’re currently dealing with loss.
© Janis
Bohan, 2010-2014. Use of this content is welcome with attribution and a link to
the post.
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