Faded Pink Blankie

I saw my friend the day before the night of the soccer game. I don't know whether it's the large issues like the economy that make his health problems so hard for me to process, or if its the hurt of watching someone you love in pain and knowing they won't let you - don't want you - to help that makes hurricanes seem more tragic and bank failures so terrifying. Whatever the reasons, I felt myself collapse under an alarming avalanche of sudden depression when I heard the Wamu news. My body felt as flat as an old birthday balloon as I ran sweatily through the beautiful night. Healthy, despite my friends illness; prosperous, despite the stock market - with a ball to chase after, cool night air to do it in and no hurricanes anywhere near my state. It felt like these simple pleasures weren't enough, because of Wamu, because of hurricanes, because of my friend. Wamu no longer exists, is that a larger sign that even friendships I determined to be eternal are too fragile to depend on? Why isn't caring and love enough to keep the gel of a friendship strong so that I could be there when he was sick? How can a bank, one in which probably half of my Seattle acquaintances belong to, just collapse? Why buy a house when I might have no job in a year? What's the point of a 401K and nest eggs, what with unscrupulous bankers and investors far removed from anything I've ever been able to control?Who can feel safe at home anymore if we are at constant threat of natural disaster, orange alerts and foreclosure? What if our next president is as bad as our current one, no matter who wins? What if he can’t fix any of it? Thoughts were starting to spin out of control. Familiar? I can't be the only one having silent hysterics lately.

I lost hope during this soccer game. Actually, I had lost hope while looking in the bleak eyes of my friend at lunch the day before, but hearing the news about Wamu brought it home, made my friend's distance and inaccessibility inescapable. And the hurricanes? They were the reason I tried (unsuccesfully) to turn the radio off in the first place. I don't normally try to hide from the news, but isn't there a point where there is too much bad news? Why can't I declare that a line has been crossed, I am officially no longer obligated to listen to the suffering and fear of others? Is there a point where I can let my friend go through his trials without me, because he doesn't need or want me, and I am absolved of responsibility even though I love him with all my heart? What if loyalty, compassion and worry for him radiates off me like a heat wave and I can't sleep because I am so hot? The economy is collapsing, the world is heating up and the unrequited love of my life just had triple bypass surgery - so what's the point? I never told him I love him. I can't, because you don't say that to someone who isn't likely to say it back. He said, 'no regrets' and I looked at the table, at my disgusting salad, at the floor and muttered unconvincingly "I know, right?" It's hard to sell that when your biggest regret is sitting three feet away from you. What does it say about me that I just want peace to chase after a ball, humming whatever tune is on my brain under my breath, shouting encouragements to my team (while shooting dirty looks at the enemy team...of course) and ignore relationships that are so important - but difficult and painful. My relationship with him is not the only one in my life that I struggle because they are in pain, but I've been hurt and I want to ignore the pain even as I can feel how much I care. Ignore the banks, I can't change their course, ignore the pain of the difficult people I love, I can't change them. The burden of loving someone that doesn't love me back is beyond my control and best ignored and gotten over, right? Even if 'the getting over' hasn't ever quite worked, not in seven - no, eight - years. Even if I am worried that he needs to know people care at this time in his life? Even if 'people' is little humble ole me? Isn't it better to nurse my hurt even though the rest of me tells me, he needs to know you care even if he can't respond to it the way you wish he would. And there go the silent hysterics again. If I don't bury my head in the sand, I am followed around by that little black rain cloud of anxiety. If I do bury my head, then I am beseiged by feelings of guilt and disloyalty...and regret.

As usual, it's music that can change even these black moods. I dug deep into my most beloved songs to make this playlist for ultimate comfort. Only songs were allowed that not only made me feel good but also have a positive message. I named it after the most comforting object in my life. (Designed to fit on an eighty minute CD of course).

Faded Pink Blankie

1. It's All Good - Sinead O'Connor and Damien Dempsey 'Collaborations'
2. Three Little Birds - Bob Marley & the Wailers 'Legend'
3. Seems I'm Never Tired Lovin' You - Nina Simone 'The Essential Nina Simone'
4. Fidelity - Regina Spektor 'Begin to Hope'
5. Always a Friend - Alejandro Escovedo 'Real Animal'
6. Sunshine on my Shoulders - John Denver
7. Safe From Harm - Massive Attack 'Blue Lines'
8. Carry Me Home - Hem 'Rabbitsongs'
9. who is it (carry my joy on the left, and my pain on the right) - Bjork 'Medulla'
10. This Is The Way - Devendra Banhart 'Rejoicing in the Hands'
11. Clint Eastwood (Ed Case Remix) – Gorillaz 'Gorillaz'
12. Almost Rosey – Tori Amos ‘American Doll Posse’
13. Satisfied Mind - Jeff Buckley 'Sketches for My Sweetheart the Drunk'
14. Ac-Cent-Tchu-Ate The Positive - Willie Nelson 'Stardust'
15. Could We - Cat Power 'The Greatest'
16. Less of Me - Loretta Lynn ‘Coal Miner’s Daughter’
17. Shine - Dolly Parton 'Little Sparrow'
18. You Are My Joy – Reindeer Section ‘Son of Evil Reindeer’
19. Your Arms Around Me - Jens Lekman
    

And like these songs, I know that I need to close with a good message. Well, I've decided that I’m choosing to hope again, even though it's more of a concept than reality at the moment. I choose to hope that things will get better. I think it's more than just hoping, I choose to believe that things will get better. And if it is really hard to ignite that first little flare of hope? Well, I'll go play number 1 and 2 on Blankie one more time.

What does it mean to choose to hope? Well, I'm going to keep putting my money in their respective -and yes, decreasing - investments. It's a sign of my faith in our country. I'm going to keep on voting. I accept that even the rudimentary, and some would claim pointless, gesture of voting is a small sign that I'm still paying attention and I'm still trying to tell the government what I think is right. I'm going to play soccer, rain or shine. I'm going to call my friend in a few weeks just to say 'how are ya, I care and I want to know that you are okay' - even if I can't fix his heart, physically or emotionally. And I'm going to try and call the few the other people who I struggle with, because I know that I do care and I want to be the sort of person who can forget her own hurts long enough to make a simple phone call of support. I'm going to clean a little bit every day. I'm not going to be afraid to turn on the news, but I won't be afraid to turn it off either when I need to reclaim my peace of mind. I'm going to create and consume art, music, books and everything wonderful. I'm going to believe that it will get better, and try to believe it body and soul. I'll try to choose the actions that prove that I believe that things will get better. And I'm going to find as many Faded Pink Blankies as I can to quiet the silent hysterics on those days they ram their foot in the door and I'm having trouble kicking them out.