Last November, Emma held an intervention for me. In the midst of the ongoing Palestinian genocide and other soul-crushing global events, she felt like I didn’t care. Emma was kind of right.
Thinking about the news made me want to die. Hearing about another restaurant forced to close, the recession people seem to have been talking about since the pandemic, cities in uproar over genocides continuously incited by their governments, my mom having to look for a second job because she wasn’t getting enough hours at her current one - all of it combined together to form a deep pit in my chest, the kind that just makes you immediately want to crumble into a ball and hide in your bed forever. Learning about the world made me feel worse about mine, and vice versa. Every bad thing in the world felt like it somehow related back to the backdrop of my life. I’m not sure when I started feeling this way. I felt it when I was a little kid too but I guess I couldn’t place it then. Until my conversation with Emma, I attributed these fleeting moments of overwhelm as care. If I had feelings so strong I had to push them away, I had to care, right?
I accepted blame quickly, casually citing reasons while saying those still weren’t valid excuses. Emma was worried I was offended and I kept asking, why would I be? Even when taking responsibility, the feeling was so overwhelming I jumped to conclusions without much examination.
Sometimes I feel like my life started when I moved out for university. For the first time, I didn’t have to tell someone where I was going (with extensive justifications and preparation for ramifications), think about what my mom would say if I thrifted a shirt from Value Village (and if she would secretly throw it out), or, in quick summary, think about the deep roots of my family’s generational trauma. I could be happy.
Happy turned into comfort which turned into plain indulgence. Most days, I was at home, laying in bed, rewatching the same show over and over again. I got myself a yummy drink everyday because I deserved it for getting out of bed. I took a semester off to work on passion projects, but all I ended up with was a depleted bank account. I allowed myself to feel overwhelmed over just about anything which perpetuated my cycle of prioritising rest and comfort above all else. Somewhere in between, I think I just wanted to stop caring at all.
Emma says that in turning off feelings in one area, we run the risk of turning off the faucet all together. My faucet comes with high-pressure and a steady source of water, but over the last two years, I’d completely shut it off. In wanting to recover, then hide, from my own burdens, I had blocked out everything. I read the news, then filled with something indescribably heavy in my chest, I scrolled through TikTok. Locally, globally, personally - it felt like everything was bad.
The Intervention was eye-opening. After an initial rush of guilt, I softened up on myself. In one way or another, I had needed this period to completely unravel after a lifetime of turbulence. But something had to come next.
Well, the faucet is back on! I’m exercising my “how does this make me feel?” muscle again, and am happy to report that my time in bed is now mostly limited to evenings and especially sleepy days. I’m engaging with life in a new way. I don’t know yet what will come of it, and I don’t really want to know. I’m still figuring out what I actually want to direct my time and energy towards, instead of simply modelling my life after what it’s supposed to look like. I’m not a very good student (I should be in class right now), but I’ve been spending less money, meeting new people, and writing more! I started going on night walks with my roommate and we often walk a little bit longer to reach arbitrary step goals. Right now, that’s what matters to me.
Emma has retreated into a concussion-induced hibernation this year, and I’ve been going to networking events alone on the weekend. She thinks that we’ve switched places and I’m busy living large. When I asked her if I should skip class, she said school is never going to be the hill she dies on, but I should care about my life.
We all care about something. Unfortunately, we’re also doomed to a structure of having to care about a lot of dumb things too, and I’m trying to fight that while keeping my faucet on. I care about learning, engaging with my peers, and the work I’m doing. I also care about reality TV! And cooking yummy food! And making playlists with my friends! And going on walks! And coffee! And sleep! I care about caring!!!!