The return address gives me pause. It’s not the name, not the street number Not the color of the Sharpie ink. I’d forgotten the lean of your Hand. That is, I didn’t forget it. I’d have Known it was from…
Advice from a (Former) Television Director
Back in my 20s I worked at the FOX station in Kansas City. Glamorous job of getting up early and helping to feed a major metropolitan area their fill of weather, traffic and morning news.
We had our share of “Breaking News” moments in those days: usually the more mundane water main breaks or apartment building fires. These were the salad days of pre-9/11 when the most wild thing that happened to Americans was a low-speed L.A. interstate chase, followed by the even more arduous “if-it-doesn’t-fit-you-must-acquit” OJ trial.
It should have been a dream job. I worked with lots of young people, my friends. It was prestigious and if I stayed on track and stayed ambitious, I could have gone on to work in news or sports at CNN, ESPN, NBC, or who knows where.
And I have friends who went on to do that. I am proud of their accomplishments and know how hard they worked to get where they are.
I didn’t. I absolutely despised the job. I left after a couple years.
The news of Boston is not our news. It’s a fallacy. I am not speaking about the sloppiness of 24-hour TV news coverage in this case (or many others).
I am talking about the impact of the coverage of these events on our psyches.
The way news anchors talk to us: it is personal. They look into your eyes. They use pictures and words that frighten us and seem to belong only to ourselves.
But that feeling of personal-ness is a lie. What is personal is happening right now, this moment, in your immediate life.
This is why I left TV news. Because the fire across town wasn’t my fire. The accident on I-35 didn’t have any meaning to me.
It wasn’t my tragedy. And I realized with growing anxiety that most news media producers, editors, and news directors had no idea how to filter that information appropriately: they didn’t know how (or feel it was necessary) to tell the story differently to the people who were nearby, rather than to those who were faraway and completely distant and out of control.
Learning the bad and horrible news of a faraway place in such immediate and grisly detail changes us. It stops us in the middle of our own days and slaps us with horror: “Look at this. This is a possibility for you!” — even if the event has no context to our own lives.
It creates the fear that has stopped us from sending our children outside to play.
By and large, the event in Boston has almost no impact on the majority of Americans. Most of us did not know anyone injured in the blast. We do not know either of the bombers. We may not even know a single person living in the Boston area. We have no way of controlling whether this can and will happen again, closer to home.
All we can do is be afraid, anxious, and unhappy.
If we choose to turn away, what could we do instead? Give our attention to our own friends and families, our own communities right in front of us. To the things that really DO need our attention.
Small (yes this is very small) events like this get BLOWN UP and out of proportion on our TVs and computer screens — in every version of itself, from video, to articles, to photos, to banners on Yankee stadium. When that happens, they become another injurious nail firing from the pressure cooker.
Remember when we said, after 9-11, that we wouldn’t let it change us? That we wouldn’t let the terrorists win, or take away our freedoms?
Well, we all know that they did. We now live in a completely terror-obsessed society, in which the media — and the NEW media, ourselves on Facebook and Twitter — spend every second of our day poring over the details of events, sharing photos of suspects, sending condolences, stating our private prayers in public.
We are that frightened child going into a dark room, banging and making loud noises, to make sure all the imaginary monsters have gone away.
Having worked for many years in a business of feeding you sensationalized bad news in order to up our ratings, I have some advice to share. Here it is:
Shut up. Just be quiet. Try it, really. Sit still and look out the window. Feel free to observe the news if you need to, but stop talking about.
After all, that’s the advice we give to mothers, right? If a child falls and cries out, we tell a mother “don’t react.” The mother looks at the child in a heap underneath the monkey bars and she holds all her terrors inside, still and smiling but watchful. It’s the hardest choice but it is necessary. Because there is child, watching.
No reaction and up the child jumps, and off to something else.
Let’s stop reacting. With each reaction — from the media, from Twitter, from our ridiculous wasted time on Facebook — we heighten the power of those violent people who started out very small. We make them big with our noises.
So be quiet. Send your donations anonymously. Say your prayers in private. If prayers can be heard, they are heard without your shouting them onto Twitter.
And meanwhile, turn off the TV and RSS feed.
Have a good look out the window. It’s spring; the first robin has visited, your friends love you, the buds on the trees are ready to burst, and all the death of winter is behind us.
I am in love with my girlfriend’s husband
Because last night when
She was inverted in downward dog
Her ponytail flipped and I saw
The best of her younger self,
The girl he spotted when they first met
Her all unpacked from her worries;
He, walking alone back from the
School drop-off this morning with his
Umbrella, his thoughts so loud they
Clamored over his head in a dance party yet
His body cut through the air like
And because one warrior girlfriend has
Worn her armor of joy and generosity
To cover the bruises, and
Leaps to block the pain and the
Insistent memories, and he
Pulls her back against him like
The softest cushion, again and
Again, soothing her and
Surprising her with his
Endurance race of love.
I am in love with my girlfriend’s
Husband who is lost right now and anxious
And a beastly wonder of
Sentiment, so he
Hangs onto her like a life preserver,
Which is his gift to her.
The husband I have not met I love anyway.
Those two cheeks pressing into each other
In the Facebook photo, the freckles against the
Beard, snapped as a favor to a friend
And shared. Smiles hang on them
Like Spanish moss across one wide
Live oak. The noise in their life
Retreats behind them:
Contentment fills the frame.
I am in love with my girlfriend’s
Husband, who holds his own dreams in
His pocket, like loose change, who
Works in the hours of the day that he doesn’t
Spend with her, yet works for her.
Sends her love texts too practical to be
Makes dinner. Washes the car.
Writes her a love song he
Sings out loud,
And see her the way
She wants to be seen. Takes her
In his arms and says to her–
All of her–
The phone got silent
Between us. I chopped
The cucumber and
Wondered if I’d
Lost signal. “Are you still
There?” I asked.
You answered with
I don’t mean to be crass
It’s just that
I’ve been alone all day and
I’ve got all these words
Clattering around inside me: mean,
Rusted out shards of
Everyday life tossed in a big ole
Heap, and so
By the time
We meet up at the playground and
Get the kids well-scattered on the
Spider climbers, then shrug off our
Weekend updates, I don’t
Intend to seem as if I
Half-screeching through our
I’ve dreamt of myself as a
Kitten-pawed belle, scraped and
Sanded free of my trigger-happy
Mouth. I’ve tried it on and
I’ve opted-instead, for
A life of apologies,
I guess, because it feels
Being so sweet when life puffs out
These breaths of now and then which just
Stink like maggoty meat.
When we are gone, we leave
Behind more than emptiness.
First there is our dust, which is
Obvious. Find the dead cat’s
Fur on your pant leg. Find the
Broken friendship still
Lingering on the bookshelf.
When we are gone, all of yesterday
Asks to be re-read in
Memory. Come back, it beckons,
Into buildings desolate and
Familiar. Not empty, but
Fruitless indeed, except
Weeds that keep on
Insisting on life.
When we are gone, we eat the
Same bread differently. We
Look for old friends and find them
Only in lacquer-coated dreams. We
Wake up and see dawn’s light
More kindly, and ourselves
More or less so.
They’ve got the chairs unfolded and
Planted at the end of the driveway, facing
The world parade, and the children are
Singing say say oh playmate come out
And play with me which Granny taught
Them on our last visit home. Inside the
Voices that dust the empty rural
Route is all of the tomorrows:
His girlfriend who chooses
A different college; Her
Roommate who fucks the guy
She loved; The panel of heartache they
Blindness to beauty,
Most of all, that comes
When desire dresses as love and
Hides them from themselves
Until they feel safe, get older,
Come out and in age, again, feel
Fine just fine with
Sitting and staring at
An empty road and
Singing into tomorrow.