In her essay, “You May Want to Marry My Husband,” the late author and filmmaker Amy Krouse Rosenthal gave her husband Jason permission to move on and find happiness. A year after her death, he shared these insights on experiencing grief and starting over:
When was the last time you walked through the doors of your local library? Last week? Last month? Last year? Now is the perfect time to stop by. I’ll bet you’ll be surprised at everything your library has to offer.
There are few things I enjoy more than getting lost in the stacks. My library — the Manchester City Library — provides residents with free access to hardcovers, paperbacks and ebooks. But locals can also access newspapers, magazines, music, audiobooks, videos and DVDs, games and computer tablets.
My library holds events as well: storytime for kids, book clubs for adults, crafting for teens, movie screenings, classes and lectures for all. During the summer, children can watch a puppet show or improve their literacy skills by reading to therapy dogs. At the park in front of the library, families can meet wildlife ambassadors and watch free outdoor concerts.
But that’s not all! With just a library card, patrons can obtain free and discounted passes to area museums or borrow books from affiliated libraries. Need to use a computer or print a resume? Just log in and get to work. Interested in doing a bit of star-gazing? Then borrow a telescope. Patrons at my library can even check out framed prints to hang in their homes/offices.
As a relatively new homeowner, I’ve been reticent about hanging any artwork on the walls for fear that I’d somehow screw it up. But recently, I decided to take the risk and brighten my rooms with some color. Here are the two framed pieces we checked out last week:
For the kitchen: Country Living I by Vivian Flasch:
And for my library/office: The Crystal Ball Skull by John William Waterhouse:
(I also checked out three ebooks and four hardcovers. How could I not?)
“People may not have a lot of sympathy for journalists, whether they get access or not, but the result of the government stopping the press from covering events that are clearly in the public’s interest is that the public loses out. And the manhandling of reporters trying to answer questions, which we’ve already seen too much of in the Trump era, demonstrates the disregard some politicians and officials have for the public knowing what they’re doing.” —Michael Calderone
M and I dream of becoming expats one day. We’re designing our careers to suit such a lifestyle. We’re building our financial futures to make such a move. And we’ve chosen our preferred locales. At the top of the list?
Scotland.
Why we do want to move to there? So many reasons. The people are wonderful. We both love the history, the music, the food, the location. But mostly we fell in love with its quiet beauty:
Don’t go anywhere, Scotland. We’ll be back again someday, and next time, we’re staying!
Humanity has long been a violent and cruel species, treacherous to its own kind and to the environment at large. And while many people have become more civilized, more socialized, more caring, there continue to be outliers to this progress, people who only feel strong when they’re harming the vulnerable, those who seek power so that they can destroy their enemies, folks who’d rather rule the world than save it.
Just look at history. We’ve all seen what happens when these outliers find enough followers to raise armies, launch crusades, command holocausts. Even when it takes a global effort to put a stop to such evil, the hatred never really goes away. It just heads underground, festering beneath the surface, waiting for another chance to destroy.
As for the forces of good — the people who do the rescuing, who seek justice, whose aim is to ease suffering — they frequently encounter the worst that humanity has to offer. Such exposure can be wearing on the soul.
Jeffrey Gettleman, who’s worked as a foreign correspondent for two decades and has been a witness to genocide, earthquakes, hurricanes, civil wars, insurgencies and famines, recently referred to himself as a “specialist in despair.” Last fall, he visited a refugee camp near the border of Myanmar and Bangladesh and interviewed a Rohingya Muslim. Government soldiers had raided her village, burned down every house, raped the women and executed the men. These soldiers even threw her baby into the fire.
This poor woman lost everything: her child, her home, her family and friends, even the sanctity of her own body and mind. Gettleman listened to her story and shared it with the world in hopes that such wrenching testimony would change things.
It did not.
Despite the fact that the United Nations has described the military offensive on the Rohingya as a “textbook example of ethnic cleansing,” the world hasn’t done much to stop it. Now, nearly 700,000 men, women and chilren are living in tents, struggling to survive, and monsoon season is coming.
Can you imagine the hatred it took to cause such misery? Or the hatred that’s bound to blossom in the hearts and minds of the oppressed? Covering such situations has a cost as well:
“I think I’m becoming the opposite of numb. Each tragedy I’ve covered, each loss I’ve absorbed, has rubbed away a little more of the insulation we all create, or were born with, that keeps the ills of the world safely away. After years of this work, I don’t have much insulation left,” Gettleman wrote.
I feel this way, too. In the past 18 years, not a single night has gone by when I haven’t dealt with death or destruction. The only question I have when I sit down at my desk each Sunday night is: How will hatred manifest itself this week?
Will governments launch airstrikes and chemical attacks on their own people? Will poorly maintained planes fall out of the sky? Will storms wreak destruction across hundreds of miles of homes and businesses that were built under little regulation? Will humans cause another animal to go extinct by hunting it to death or destroying its habitat? Or will this be the night when people sexually assault children, set animals on fire for sport, starve the elderly for social security checks, beat their spouses into submission, engage in racist or sexist acts or launch armed attacks on schools/movie theaters/bars/restaurants/office buildings/places of worship/hospitals/concert venues/etc?
I can usually count the hours, even the minutes, until I’m searching through footage of body parts and dead babies, trying to find the image that will convey what’s happening in the world in the most honest way possible without being so graphic or sensationalistic that readers will be more turned off than tuned in.
I do this not because I get some vicarious thrill out of violence — I don’t — but because I want things to get better. I want people to learn about and respond to the evils of the world. I want voters to act. Instead of letting history repeat itself, I desire things to change. I want the mighty to care for the weak, not to crush them.
But when things don’t change for the better, when the cycle of violence continues unabated, when ignorance is praised and apathy becomes the norm, I’m keenly aware of the setback. In this fertile space of frustration, anger, resentment and disappointment, hatred for those responsible can grow.
Such hatred is rarely useful. As Maya Angelou once said, “Hate, it has caused a lot of problems in the world, but has not solved one yet.” Harnessing these volatile emotions — and redirecting them — takes a great deal of determination, particularly when you don’t have much insulation left.
So how do you handle hatred?
