The Road Taken

Each new day during our present lock-down seems to come with a new word or phrase.

Social distance is already a cliche, yesterday's phrase. We all know what it means. It's one of those nouns that has quickly become a verb, an action word.

We wish everyone to social distance, or practice social distancing.

This morning I learned a new phrase. It's been around in psychology circles but seems most appropriate for our situation:

Tragic optimism.

As I understand, tragic optimism is related to PTS (post traumatic stress). It requires crisis. An acceptance of crisis, which any good soldier must accept and deal with.

You don't simply run to your happy place. There isn't a pill or tonic. It's real, not fake. Some of us respond more "optimistically." It's an opportunity to act, not hide.

I think this is how common folk become heroes.

I think the United States of America, at its very soul, stands for tragic optimism.

You see it in the call to duty of our first responders, our health-care workers, food suppliers and more. These folks sacrifice their own well-being, and lives, for others. They rise to the occasion.

A simple example of tragic optimism in our culture is, I believe, protective masks. While other countries walk around in white masks, we immediately create colorful, artful and unique ones. It's an optimistic twist to a tragic situation.

It is clear, however, that we are on our own at this time. Each state, each community, each family. I am hopeful that at our very core, we will continue to be good soldiers. Always ready to lend a helping hand. Come up with a new solution to our common problem.

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Yesterday I participated in a virtual group meeting of memoir writers. I have been a part of this group for more than a year. We came together via Zoom. The meeting was hosted by the Louden Nelson Community Center in Santa Cruz, under the able technical direction of Kelly Mercer-Lebov.

Here we were, each in our own domicile but together in spirit: Helen, Pam, Nancy, David, and Kathryn Cowan, our astute coach. Some of us had time to read a couple of pages of manuscript to the group, followed by individual comments.

The material is personal. We reveal our experiences in words read out loud. You really don't know what you have until you read it to a group, hear your voice speaking your coveted words.

A friend of mine who is sadly no longer with us was a writing teacher at UC Santa Cruz. His name was Don Rothman. He believed so strongly in the power of writing and inspired many students who went on to become excellent professional writers, as well as other occupations, I'm sure.

When he spoke of writing, his eyes would glow, he would smile and literally beam. He told me that when he was young, he would listen to opera in his bedroom. I could not imagine doing that myself, but I could see him dancing around in joyful celebration.

Through the help of my fellow memoir writers, and a few other mentors, I am beginning to understand how Don felt.