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Are any of you sick of blurry leaves and abstract, close-up interiors? I am. And yes, I’m aware of the fact that I’ve just described the bulk of my latest publishing output. It’s either that or wading through my archives...both choices aren’t very forward-looking. Both choices feel downright circular. Yesterday I caught a glimpse of one of my camera bags, hanging on a hook in our “workshop”. I’m using quotes because we’re not very crafty, so it’s mostly just where we keep our tools—in a more or less serious state of disarray. But I saw the bag and I kid you not: my heart skipped a beat. My breath stopped too, not for long, but just enough to feel it. And for a few seconds, I raged, internally. I raged at the walls and the stifled voices, at empty streets and tarmacs, at a life suddenly cut off from the beauty of others. Then it passed. I read an article this week featuring a psychiatrist who was explaining how our brains are behaving during this pandemic. That they are, in fact, doing what they were designed to do: identifying danger and preparing our bodies to react accordingly. This, she said, was the reason why a lot of us are having trouble concentrating, and why we seem unable to stop “doom scrolling”...because our brains are forcing us to keep focussing on the threat. It’s the whole fight or flight reflex, which is great when a lion is about to pounce...but not so useful when you can’t actually…you know…escape. And certainly not so brilliant when the lion decides to just sit there and wait. We are essentially stuck within the danger zone. Energy and attention sucked away from us, against our will. To counteract this, I’ve decided to try cruise control: I’ve kept a long list of subjects and ideas over the past year, so I’ll try going through those, instead of relying on my current addled mind. Easier said than done but hey...can’t be worse than reading that same paragraph over and over again right? ... Hard to skip over the fact that this’ll be the last newsletter before the US elections. I’m hopeful that decency will finally prevail because there’s nothing else at this point. If this experiment has taught us anything—wherever we may live—it is that decency must be at the core of the human experience (1). All that we hold dear simply follows: honesty, generosity, competence, trust and kindness. Without decency, our social contract fails and civilization returns to dark caves and wolves, to wild animals gnawing at each other’s throats, frenzied at the sight of blood. If Trump wins, this time, there will be no excuse. Aberrancy will become Identity; and the world, as a result, will simply move on. The concept of American exceptionalism, however imperfect and flawed, often mythical, will end altogether. We are at a crossroads. This “letter” from writer Ryan Holiday to his dad is a touching tribute and plea—wrapped in profound incomprehension.
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