A friend told me the other day that she is becoming physically ill from the stress and depression caused by the deluge of cataclysmic world events . . . a deluge that seems to go on, and on, and on, with no end in sight.

And a family member said yesterday that her way of dealing with it is to push it to the back of her mind and — even though she sees the headlines and is aware of what’s happening — she tries not to dwell on it by immersing herself in other things: her work, her children, her community.

Lying in bed last night, thinking about both of those women, I realized that I fall somewhere between the two: I feel the stress and the emotional debilitation, but I can’t turn away. In fact, I am that person who, when confronted with the most horrific sight — a train falling off the track, or a loved one breathing their last breath — cannot look away. I am unable to evade the truth, or to choose ignorance.

But neither will I allow reality, no matter how terrible, to get the better of me. I may be unable to change the situation; but neither will I let it destroy me. And since I no longer have the distractions of a job or small children to occupy me, I have found my own way of dealing with the ill effects of the world’s events: I write about them.

And it helps. That is why you see me here, endlessly expounding on subjects ranging from wars in foreign lands, to the disastrous excesses of the current U.S. administration, to natural disasters, to personal reminiscences, and sometimes even detouring into the odd bit of humor or whimsy. And each time another person reads one of my articles, I feel a little less alone in a world I can’t control.

So thank you, dear reader, for being there. You are my unseen support system.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
6/18/25