Doom and Gloom, Ladybugs, and Anne Lamott

This is from back in 2015 when all we had to worry about was the threat of a nuclear holocaust. Awwwww…the good old days! But it’s still really good advice.
Stay well my dear friends.
xox

It never occurred to me that I might die in a thermal-nuclear holocaust. 

A motorcycle accident, sure. Choking on my gum or a large mouthful of  Raisinettes, huge possibility. But turned into toast at the hands of two man-babies with weird hair? Not so much.

I grew up during the Cuban missile crisis, we had “duck and cover”  drills twice a week in an effort to convince us we’d be safe under our desks. Like radiation and fire would skip over our grade school. Or Catholic kids dressed in their Gawd-awful uniforms with their hands clasped tightly together in prayer wouldn’t die. I knew even then that the whole thing was bullshit. I also knew that if the bomb dropped I’d die without ever kissing a boy, getting boobs or being allowed to order Coca Cola at a restaurant. 

You wanna know what really scared me as a kid? Nuns, clowns and math tests. The end.

So, now what? What if Kim Jong What-the Fuck picks California to nuke? Will the world even care? Will it miss Kombucha, man buns, and hot yoga? I tend to think not. My guess is that us whiny, liberal, coastal elites will not be missed.
At first.
I can only imagine how the political pundits will spin it once the radioactive dust has settled. “Good riddance giant blue state.” the headlines will read.  “One less thing to worry about in the 2020 election.” 

I bring all of this up because I read this recent Facebook post by one of my favs, Anne Lamott, who wrote about her concerns starting off with “We are so doomed.”

Are we?

My immediate thought: “Well, if that’s the case I’m done shaving my legs.” 

Then I remembered being a kid and watching all of the grown-ups wringing their hands with worry and how I knew, even five decades ago, that worrying wasn’t going to make anything better. So, instead of joining the hand wringing circle,  I grabbed my “bug jar”, ran outside to the field on the corner, and looked for more ladybugs. Because ladybugs are good luck (especially the rare ones without any spots) and being a kid gave me permission not to worry. To not know how to fix things. To just be in the moment, enjoying life.

That’s what Anne is saying below, and seriously, you guys, I know it sounds trite and you probably want to pummel my face—but that’s all we can do. 

Well, that and bury ourselves in a giant puppy pile while wearing that expensive dress we were saving for a special occasion and eating any carb that isn’t nailed down.

I give us all permission to be childlike.  Innocently oblivious. Also, it feels like the right time to tell anyone and everyone that you love them.

Now. Don’t wait. 

xox Love you guys. Who’s with me?

TAKE IT AWAY ANNE…

“We are so doomed. There is nothing we can do. We are at the mercy of two evil ignorant syphilitic madmen, the two worst people on earth. I mean that nicely.

Where do we even start?

We stop trying to figure things out. “Figure it out” is not a good slogan. We practice trust and surrender, and attention to what we know is beautiful: dogs, art, the Beatles, each other’s eyes. And we don’t give up hope. Emily Dickinson said that hope encourages the Good to reveal itself. We need all the Good we can summon in these Locked and Loaded days.

So what do we hope for?

Pivot! A perfect time for the Pivot.

Just kidding.

We hope and pray for the return of sanity, or even sanity-ish. I do not hope for a successful Trump presidency or failed Trump presidency. I hope that he does not blow up the whole world.

Is that so much to ask?

What if he accidentally blows up a little bit of the world?

Well, these things happen. We’ll stick together. What has always lifted my spirits is a promise that I made to myself, that if it looks like the end of the world, I get to eat every single thing on earth that can’t outrun me: the last few days, I will only eat nachos and creme brûlée and Safeway carrot cake. Oatbags of M&M’s. No vegetable matter!

That’s something to look forward to!

One more question: how do we get to hope in these dark ratty days?

We don’t think our way to hope. We take the actions, and then the insight follows. The insight is that hope springs from awareness of love, immersion in love, commitment to love. This begins with radical self love: to save the world, make yourself a lovely cup of tea. Put lotion on your jiggly thighs, clean sheets on the bed, the most forgiving pants you own. On the possibly last day on earth, you do not want to be wearing pants that pinch or tug, or ride up your crack.

Trust me on this.

Radical self-love means you treat yourself the same way you would treat your favorite cousin, or even cranky old mealy-mouthed me. Watch the self-talk. You would probably use a sweeter tone of voice with the cousin or me, that you would with yourself. This will change the world.

Get outside, even just to the front porch, and look up into the sky and into the tree tops, and say the great praise- prayer: WOW. Listen for the sound of birds–or bird. Surely there is one lousy bird somewhere in the vicinity. Close your eyes and really listen. If birdsong was the ONLY proof we have that there is a bigger deeper reality than what transcends what we are seeing on the news, it would be enough for me. Eyes closed, breathe, listen: secret of life.

And lastly, take care of the poor–right now. In Hallelujah Anyway, I wrote that when I got sober, I was taught that happiness lay in going from big shot, to servant. If you want to feel loving feelings, which is hope, do loving things. Send a donation to a group that feeds and shelters and clothes people, in your neighborhood, or Syria. Don’t tell yourself you have no money–pack up clothes and shoes to take to a shelter. Or cash in the money in your laundry room change cup, and give it to people on the street. Give away three dollars to moms on the street with kids, and give the kids colored pencils and journals, or index cards, and say,”It is good to see you,” even if you have tiny tiny judgment issues involving bootstraps and combed hair.

If you have time, register a few voters. Also, maybe a ten-minute nap–the writer Robyn Posin says rest is a spiritual act. Father Tom Weston urges, “Left foot, right foot, left foot, breathe.” Ram Dass tells us that ultimately, we are all just walking each other home. Let’s get started.

Am sending you love, whoever you are, and as pastor Veronica says, God bless you good.”