I woke up this past Monday to the horrific news of the mass shooting in Las Vegas Sunday evening, Oct 1. After listening to the sobering news accounts I sent an email inquiry to my adult children, Ceilee and Jo, both of whom live in Vegas:
"I recall being in Denver right after the Columbine shooting in 1999 and how somber the mood was then. It’s so hard to understand why things like this happen.
"Please send me a note when you can. (Susan got the text from Jo letting us know that you all are OK, so I already have that most important fact.)"
Jo replied that day:
Jo replied that day:
We are fine. I honestly think that the impact is stronger for the tourism industry than it is for any locals who don't interact with the Strip.
I can see the location where it happened from my office windows but it just looks the same as any other day. Facebook is full of opinions and condolences but the truth is this is the world we live in. We made our bed and now some of us have to lie six feet under in it. The best thing I can do is stay out of the way of the pros who are trying to do their job to get this mess cleaned up and investigated. I already donated blood so I can't do that again for a while.
It is sad, but I've been feeling this way for about a year now so this doesn't seem any worse than it's been. Sure 58 people died here last night but another hundred will die from gun violence across the country today, and tomorrow and the next day. Not to mention the hundreds in Mexico City from the earthquake, Puerto Rico, TX, & FL from the hurricanes, South Africa and the Pacific Northwest from the fires, North Korea from the human rights violations etc.
The world is a place of ongoing tragedy, great joy, and beauty. It's just how much we choose to see of each on any given day.
What a complex response I had to this reply!
I. We Live in a World of Incredible Paradox
I. We Live in a World of Incredible Paradox
Jo is right.
At night I dependably get angry listening to the PBS News Hour as Judy Woodruff guides us through Trump's latest missteps and mindless provocations. Each morning I laugh when Lucie (our nine-year-old rescue dog—part black lab; part collie) jumps up on the bed and licks me awake.
Once a month I travel cross country to work with cooperative groups in struggle, putting out fires and offering hope as best I can. In contrast, when I'm home I take time to cook delicious food and enjoy companionship with Susan and company. I worry about the future of humanity, yet take pleasure in a reading books at a rate of one per week, doing the daily NY Times crossword, and playing duplicate bridge on Mondays and Wednesdays. Life is a mixed bag.
On the one hand, it's important to me that I'm trying to make a positive difference in the world, attempting to lead an aware life. On the other hand, it will do me and those around me no good if I'm somber all the time and bathed in constant sorrow. The trick of life is to feel the pain yet not let it swamp your boat. To be able to laugh in a world going to hell in a handcart.
At night I dependably get angry listening to the PBS News Hour as Judy Woodruff guides us through Trump's latest missteps and mindless provocations. Each morning I laugh when Lucie (our nine-year-old rescue dog—part black lab; part collie) jumps up on the bed and licks me awake.
Once a month I travel cross country to work with cooperative groups in struggle, putting out fires and offering hope as best I can. In contrast, when I'm home I take time to cook delicious food and enjoy companionship with Susan and company. I worry about the future of humanity, yet take pleasure in a reading books at a rate of one per week, doing the daily NY Times crossword, and playing duplicate bridge on Mondays and Wednesdays. Life is a mixed bag.
On the one hand, it's important to me that I'm trying to make a positive difference in the world, attempting to lead an aware life. On the other hand, it will do me and those around me no good if I'm somber all the time and bathed in constant sorrow. The trick of life is to feel the pain yet not let it swamp your boat. To be able to laugh in a world going to hell in a handcart.
II. Las Vegas Itself is a Paradox
Both my community-raised kids now call Las Vegas home. After having been raised on a communal farm dedicated to sustainable living, they now happily live in a city that's about as unsustainable as you can imagine, artificially supported by inexpensive electricity and water hijacked from the Colorado River—both courtesy of the Hoover Dam. Before the dam Las Vegas was just a sleepy village of about 5,000 people, a modest water-stop oasis on the route to Los Angeles.
Work started on the dam in 1931—it represented a major Depression-era public works project, employing thousands over the course of four years. Not coincidentally, the first casino was licensed in 1931 as well, starting Las Vegas down a path from which it would be forever different. Today it has population of over 1 million, and growing.
It is an aggregation of modest, earth-toned neighborhoods, dotted with gated enclaves of starter mansions, radiating out from the glitzy, circus-like atmosphere of The Strip— which is a round-the-clock paean to Mammon and Materialism—all improbably plunked in the midst of a surrounding desert of breathtaking natural beauty. Go figure.
Work started on the dam in 1931—it represented a major Depression-era public works project, employing thousands over the course of four years. Not coincidentally, the first casino was licensed in 1931 as well, starting Las Vegas down a path from which it would be forever different. Today it has population of over 1 million, and growing.
It is an aggregation of modest, earth-toned neighborhoods, dotted with gated enclaves of starter mansions, radiating out from the glitzy, circus-like atmosphere of The Strip— which is a round-the-clock paean to Mammon and Materialism—all improbably plunked in the midst of a surrounding desert of breathtaking natural beauty. Go figure.
III. Pervasive Violence
I have devoted most of my adult life to creating alternatives to violence; to promoting cooperative culture. As I mentioned above, I earn a living traveling into harm's way, in an effort help groups better navigate the shoal waters of group dynamics. One of the key qualities that I bring to my work is the ability to feel deeply into an upset person's reality—to see things through their eyes, and to articulate the meaning that has for them. From that emotional bedrock I've found that it's often possible to bridge chasms that otherwise appear to be too deep, too far, or too triggering.
In that context it is both humbling and frightening to realize how hard it is to imagine being Stephen Paddock. How did he get to the state of mind where he could purposefully spray bullets into a crowd of music lovers? I work with angry and frightened people all the time, yet occasionally I am unable to bridge to someone. In particular I am susceptible to falling short when it comes to imagining the attraction of violence.
There is no doubt that it is part of the human psyche, yet it is a dark door that is hard for me to open. I have trouble accessing the capacity for murder, rape, and dehumanization, and I'm not sure what meaning this inability has. I'm not sure I want to be able to open that door. What monster in me may lurk behind it? What might I be unchaining? Scary stuff.
Even as I took in the horror of Sunday's shooting, Jo's note reminded me of how we have all become inured to everyday violence that is parceled out in smaller doses, as well as the numbing onslaught of natural disasters (the severity and frequency of which have undoubtedly been amped up by humans unmindfully monkeying with the planet's climate). I was punched in the gut by Jo's reminder that nearly 100 people are killed by gun violence in the US daily. Sunday's massacre was just a modest spike in a bad trend—not the atrocious anomaly we wish it were.
And the Republicans want to ease restrictions on gun control, allowing people to carry concealed weapons across state lines, making it easier to buy silencers, and eliminating or easing background checks for mental instability and criminal records among prospective gun buyers. This makes us safer? Yikes! By what standard does this pass for thinking?
I am completely baffled by people who believe that an aggressive response to violence will eliminate it. I have never seen that work.
IV. Parental Pride
Finally, there is also joy for me in Jo's response, which was thoughtful, heartfelt, multifaceted, existential, practical, and pithy (all in four paragraphs).There is no doubt that it is part of the human psyche, yet it is a dark door that is hard for me to open. I have trouble accessing the capacity for murder, rape, and dehumanization, and I'm not sure what meaning this inability has. I'm not sure I want to be able to open that door. What monster in me may lurk behind it? What might I be unchaining? Scary stuff.
Even as I took in the horror of Sunday's shooting, Jo's note reminded me of how we have all become inured to everyday violence that is parceled out in smaller doses, as well as the numbing onslaught of natural disasters (the severity and frequency of which have undoubtedly been amped up by humans unmindfully monkeying with the planet's climate). I was punched in the gut by Jo's reminder that nearly 100 people are killed by gun violence in the US daily. Sunday's massacre was just a modest spike in a bad trend—not the atrocious anomaly we wish it were.
And the Republicans want to ease restrictions on gun control, allowing people to carry concealed weapons across state lines, making it easier to buy silencers, and eliminating or easing background checks for mental instability and criminal records among prospective gun buyers. This makes us safer? Yikes! By what standard does this pass for thinking?
I am completely baffled by people who believe that an aggressive response to violence will eliminate it. I have never seen that work.
IV. Parental Pride
My daughter is 30 years old and it makes me proud to see that she has matured to the point of feeling the pain around her yet not letting it swamp her boat. Isn't that the best we can hope for our children? Or for each other?
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