Making a Little Difference
I’ve been reflecting lately on how I approach life’s challenges. It’s probably the sort of thing people do who’ve reached my age.
During the active years of the COVID pandemic, when I was mostly confined to home, I think I became more observer than participant in life. I got up in the morning with a sigh, a sense of resignation that “here’s another day.” I watched TV or, if I didn’t watch, I kept it on to see other people and hear some sounds besides my breathing. I saw crises that weren’t mine. I watched as politics unfolded more-or-less as expected. I observed it all and sank a little deeper into my sense of dissatisfaction with life.
Okay, there were occasional bright spots. Calls and notes came from friends, which I appreciated. A few creative times in my studio were hopeful. And the most convincing reason to break out of my self-imposed solitude were my grandchildren. I celebrated first hugs, first steps, first words. I was temporarily buoyed by the sense of obsessive affection that comes with grandmothering.
I didn’t just sit out life for the 2-year COVID stretch. I did some work, posted some essays, perhaps even did some good for someone. But I also – and sometimes mostly – watched. I noticed. I sighed. And I filled the role of disappointed observer.
What kept me observing and not participating was the sense that I couldn’t make a real difference anyway so why try? I couldn’t change the hearts of MAGA Republicans or repair what they were breaking. I saw millions of Americans suffering lack of housing and food, unable to keep up with inflation, and I didn’t have the resources to care for them. Perhaps the worst was that I couldn’t keep Black men alive in a world where they are seen more as targets than as persons.
And it’s true: I can’t fix most of what’s broken. But the fact that I can’t fix everything doesn’t need to mean I can’t fix anything, or the reality that I can’t make all the difference should keep me from making some difference.
I credit First Lady Betty Ford with convincing me that making a difference in life is like tossing a pebble into a pond and watching the ripples form. If we can make a small difference, that small difference could spawn a larger difference as the ripples of our action move out. It’s like “the butterfly effect” that the flap of a butterfly’s wing in Brazil can spur the formation of a tornado in Texas.
My first step toward getting out of my observer funk is convincing myself that I don’t need to do everything; I only need to do something.
There may be another factor. When I’m down on myself, I tend to withdraw from real participation in the life of others. I isolate and paralyze myself with the notion that I’ve not done enough, not been enough. I should have achieved more in a long lifetime. It supports the “why try anyway” feeling that calls me back to bed for the day.
When, even for a minute, I can feel some sense of satisfaction with what I’ve achieved in life, I start thinking about getting up and doing something useful.
It happens when a high school senior sends an email saying she read my 1992 speech to the Republican National Convention. She says it changed her life and she’s going to perform it in her state’s forensics contest next week.
It happened last week when a man said he’d kept my book by his bedside for decades, reading from it regularly. Really? Wow….
It happens when, holding one of my grandchildren, they look up at me, touch my cheek and gurgle some unknown language of love. This child has come from one of my sons, of whom I am proud, and he has a brother of whom I’m equally proud. Somewhere over the years, I must have done something right as a mother.
When I believe that I have some value and acknowledge that I don’t need to do everything in order to do something, I come back to life. I can’t fix the Republicans but I can give a dollar to a candidate who will try. I can’t repair homelessness but I can support a local effort to develop affordable housing. I can’t eliminate food insecurity or hunger but I can join the board of Project Angel Food that delivered more than a million meals in Los Angeles County last year.
I still need to be careful about exposure to COVID. I want not to become so busy that I have no time for my children and grandchildren. But I’m ready to let go of my role as nothing-but-an-observer. With the resources and time I have left, I want to join you in participating fully in this life.