by Lyndsey Graves
I am suspicious of people who know what to think.
They knew the answers long before we asked the questions – Why? How?
– or else they aren’t thinking at all, at least not about anyone but
themselves.
Even now, I wonder what I could possibly add to this
conversation; especially since this post won’t go out until a few days after
Boston, and you will wonder why OPT is harping on about this while everyone
else has moved on.
Like everyone else I’ve talked to, I struggled at first,
trying to feel sad, and then realized I can’t; I am only a little shocked, and
afraid, and ashamed that I don’t pray more often for those who live their lives
shocked and afraid every day in other regions of the world. And I’m angry.
That’s the thing about terrorism, isn’t it? Disease and tragedy and disaster
happen to people all the time, and someone chooses to add to the chaos. Now suddenly
people can’t run a foot race on a minor holiday?
Yesterday also marked one month since the death of an 18-year-old
whose family I am close to.
I know what I feel, but I don’t know what to think.
Predictably, now that I’m at a loss, the only thing
springing up to fill the void is the post I was already intending to write. I
was going to write about all the profound implications of this stupid phrase
that’s been bouncing around long enough to be on its way out, and now I can’t
decide if it’s glib or callous or flippant to say,
you only live once.
That’s all I’ve got. You live once; you spend some finite
number of evenings with your family. You do your thing. You give and take. And
then you’re done, and you didn’t see it coming.
Maybe the hardest part about other people’s tragedy, what’s
so unnerving about the things you didn’t expect, is that there’s nothing tangible
to do when all you want is to act,
make, go, fight the evil you’ve encountered. Maybe that’s why people spout
ignorant and pious and insensitive things on Facebook. I don’t know.
I never know what to think, but I’m learning what to do. I
turn off all the news; I don’t need the details. I turn off the computer; I
don’t need acquaintances’ opinions. I sit in silence for the victims and plead
with God for mercy.
For a couple of days I’ll make bread or something, I’ll go
outside in the rain, and for the love of God I’ll hold that much tighter to the
people I’m with, because it will be following me around – you only live once. Try to do it on purpose. you only live once. And you’re not in control. you only live once. Sometimes it means you quit wasting time and
get your shit together and help some people, or that you go to school like you
always meant to. And sometimes, it means you throw your philosophical questions
about hedonism to the wind and just enjoy
some things before “too late” shows up.
For me, it always means I stop scrolling through the feed
and my uncharitable interpretations of it. I stop imagining I have to know what
to feel or think just because everyone else seems to. I start living, a little
more here and a little more now, because I already have everything precious.
And I look a little harder for resurrection where it’s happening, and cheer and
cheer and work to help it on, because somehow in the midst of tragedy, I
believe – look, I’ve seen it – people can and will live again, and they are the
ones who’ll YOLO best.
Lyndsey
lives and works in Syracuse, NY. She majored in theology at Lee
University, which is like eating cake or listening to thunderstorms -
too enjoyable to be called work. Also, no one will pay you to do it. You can follow her on Twitter @lyndseygraves and you can find more of her writing at her blog To Be Honest.
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