A Ripple in the Pond

The Orlando shooting continues to haunt and traumatize, despite my attempt to focus on the bravery of the responders and the love being expressed by people across the nation. As always, I turn within, in this case, to examine my own relationship with violence. It would seem to be non-existent, yet this morning as I was making coffee I unthinkingly squashed a tiny ant on the kitchen counter. I looked down, suddenly horrified. Unlike even a mosquito, this ant had done nothing to me. I had acted only out of a vague sense that it’s not good to have ants in a kitchen. Does that really warrant ending a life, even one so small?

And circumstances conspired a few days on either side of the shooting to force me to look at ways in which I – like most Americans and perhaps people all over the world – could be said to “consume” violence, conflict and murder. I rarely attend movies, but recently I have seen two. One I guess you could say I saw by mistake, since I don’t like violent movies or thrillers. It was dressed up in the guise of a chummy-ha-ha buddy movie, but the fact is that I had my hands in front of my eyes nearly throughout, and would have left entirely if (not having my own car) there had been public transportation available. The second film was Disney’s Jungle Book, a marvel in modern animation, yet even here, there was the obligatory good-versus-evil plot with the snarling tiger threatening the peace-loving wolves. And just the other night, homesick for good English drama, I had occasion to watch an episode of Hinterland, extremely well done, moody, with only a trace of overt violence, but the repressed violence and depression were palpable. 

In light of Orlando and so many other similar events, suddenly all of this just makes me sick. It’s like my willingness to take in this sort of trauma – at least voluntarily through “entertainment,” literature, sports, or advertising – has reached its limit. Even the miniscule percentage of my life that I have devoted to consuming this kind of negativity seems to be too much. At the same moment as the shootings, many thousands of Americans were undoubtedly watching “virtual” violent entertainment, not making the connection that our psyches are deeply affected by both.

I’m a 60 year-old woman. I don’t know whether I have three months, three years, or three decades left to my life. But today, I’m just asking myself, why on earth would I want to spend one more hour of it “consuming” conflict? People say, well, that’s our human reality. Does it have to be? Really? Maybe it seems like a tiny step to gravitate away from such fare, and maybe it will cause only a small ripple in the pond of the world’s troubles. Maybe I’ll slip from time to time and watch an old original Law and Order, Inspector Morse or Inspector Lewis, or read one of the medieval mystery books I enjoy. But overall, I’m afraid my jug is full to the brim. Life will undoubtedly continue to bring it on, but I can choose not to self-inflict trauma. I can choose not to use my spare time to watch or even read about characters hurting each other. The time has come to be really, really choosy with my hours on this planet. And to honor all forms of life, no matter how tiny. I'm sorry, dear ant.