This morning, I sat partially reclined on a green velvet sofa my family lovingly calls “the napping couch” (for obvious reasons). It was early enough that I was still wearing pajamas, but late enough that half the kids had already boarded the bus for school. I was taking advantage of the younger kids’ focus on breakfast to make a dreaded Scheduling-Related Phone Call to an overworked and understaffed medical facility.
It goes without saying that I was on hold.
I’ve been trying to live in my body more often lately, and times of waiting are the perfect opportunity for this practice. It sounds ridiculous to say “live in your body,” as if we could ever live anywhere else. And yet, most of us do. We live in our minds, or online, or distractedly thinking about that other thing over there. Being an embodied person is difficult for me, but I’m trying.
Tinny hold music in the background, I followed my breath. I noticed the rise and fall of my chest. The weird achy stiffness that settles into the arches of my feet in the morning. The soft velvet couch under my fingertips. In the midst of this noticing, I heard from the Holy Spirit through the voice of the robot on the hold line:
“We are experiencing a higher than usual volume of anxiety. Your anxiety is important to us. Please stay on the line . . .”
Of course that’s not actually what the robot said, but it’s what I heard and that’s what counts. (If you practice Ignatian spirituality on a regular basis, you’ll quickly find that God speaks in some really weird ways.)
Anxiety (and depression, when it visits) always sneak up on me. Even though I know what it feels like, I struggle to recognize its appearance until someone on the outside points it out to me. Even if that someone is a spiritual being/call center robot.
I am anxious not about any specific upcoming event or circumstance, but in the way that a gentle hum of static that’s always in the background has been gradually turned louder and louder until I can no longer hear my own rational thoughts. The last time this happened, the gremlins playing with the volume knob were the pandemic and the Trump presidency.
This time, it’s the guns.
No, not the shootings or the violence or the people using the guns, but the guns themselves. I’m unnerved by the thought that every time I leave the house, I don’t know who has a gun on them. Just the presence of a gun, on a police officer or a “good person” or a “criminal,” is enough to bother me. And because you never know where a gun might be in America, I’m unnerved most of the time.1
There is now so much gun violence across our nation that if you say to a friend, “Did you hear about the shooting?” you will have to specify which one.
Speaking of which, did you hear about the shooting the other day? Yes, the one in St. Paul, just two blocks from the market where our whole family squeezed up to the deli counter last month to buy lamb for a birthday dinner. Did you hear? It took place in broad daylight, first thing on a Saturday morning.
It was the one where a man—a husband, a father, a beloved hockey coach—was shot to death in his own front yard. Did you hear that it’s a good neighborhood? Did you hear that his wife and two children (who go to the same school as my kids) are devesated?
Yes, that shooting. That’s the one.
And the static blares on.
https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-support-the-brasel-family
I didn’t set out to follow up talk of anxiety and a tragedy with a link round-up. But one of the ways I combat anxiety is by making little collections of good things. Just imagine me like my preschooler, pulling each link from my pocket and offering it up to you just like he does with shiny or interesting rocks.
Brain Tingles:2 Imperialist Christianity has a centuries-old bad habit of claiming land that isn’t theirs as a “God-given” right. On this episode of the Things Not Seen podcast,3 Mary-Jane Rubenstein traces European colonialism to our modern-day approach toward space exploration—and how we can avoid repeating bad history.
On Writing: The delightful Katherine May on resting like a writer. “I sometimes fantasise that we would all rise up, seize control of the land, and remake the connection between work and living, but I also know that I would hate that, and would quickly find a quiet room with a plug socket so that I could type some words again.”
Making Connections: These are two separate pieces by Courtney Martin at The Examined Family. Although they were written months apart, I found them quite convicting for my own life when I paired them together. The Art of Care Mostly Disappears and I Can Quit You, Baby (doing grown woman shit like rewiring your brain so you’re not trying to anticipate everyone’s needs all the time).
Deep Thinking: I became an instant Jonathan Haidt fan after reading his book The Righteous Mind last month. And so I’m recommending his entire Substack, After Babel. He’s currently writing a lot about social media and teen mental health, but I’m also on board for whatever else this moral philosopher wants to explore in the future.
Please remember to hold the Brasel family near to your heart and in your prayers. Thank you, friends.
Obligatory footnote that I’m part of one of the many US households that has more guns (cased, locked, and stored safely) than people—and we have a lot of people in our house. My husband hunts; my children probably will someday as well.
Brain tingles, as Sharon McMahon calls them, happen when you learn something new or hear a different perspective that leads you to a fascinating discovery or connection.
This podcast is hosted by my academic advisor and professor of last semester’s Ignatian Spirituality course, David Dault! I highly recommend giving it a listen. Hearing him talk with others is a masterclass in active listening.