Elizabeth Monthly: I dream of the Outer Hebrides
Bonjour mes ami,
It's not quite the end of April, four months into 2023, and I am exhausted. I mean a real burned-out, hitting-the-wall, brain-drained kind of exhaustion. I have this recurring fantasy where a doctor will diagnose me with some vague, old-timey disease like "a touch of the grippe" and the only cure is to take in the air somewhere healthsome and remote like Geneva or the outer Hebrides. I want to go away for three months with nothing to do and no internet access and just basically pretend I'm a character in some Victorian novel who spends her days taking wistful walks along the water in between forced doses of cod liver oil.
This fantasy is not that strange - it's actually just a plea to forsake all responsibility through no fault of my own. To get out of all my obligations and have no one blame me for flaking - a win for shirkers everywhere! But alas medicine has advanced too far for doctors to recommend these sorts of humoral cures. The best I'm going to get is a Sunday on the couch watching the NBA playoffs.
But why am I so exhausted? And am I the only one?
I'm not alone, it turns out. "We've hit peak exhaustion," says one report from New Zealand. And burnout among young people and women is at an all-time high. Anecdotally, in my capacity as a (former) editor, I've had an incredible number of emails go unanswered, and have seen a tremendous amount of people just disappear, ghosting on their obligations, not turning in work. And unlike what some pundits would like us to believe, I don't believe Americans have spontaneously decided to become slackers. I think people are just overburdened and simply can't keep up.
And as to why...the answer is complicated.
The world feels chaotic and terrifying right now. Gun violence, political instability, corporate greed and malfeasance, economic woes, war, pandemic, erosion of human rights, mental health crises, climate change, AI-based job displacement....like, take your pick, lol. There's a bloody lot going on that's bad. So even reading the news feels overwhelming. And our phones are built to keep us constantly plugged in and scrolling, pinging us all day with little jolts of red-bannered adrenaline mixed with a steady morphine drip of likes and views. We're functionally addicted to distraction and bad news.
Add to that the more immediate terrors of inflation, job insecurity, debt, and illness, all exacerbated by the pandemic, it's no wonder many of us have just hit a wall.
I can also say that, in my own case, I have a tendency to overcommit. Just a little.
Why did I think I could carry all these swords? Who needs seven swords anyway?
My problem with saying yes to everything is essentially a problem of estimation. I have little to no ability to estimate the time it will take me to perform a task, and so when I say "Sure, I'll write a book review!" my brain doesn't take into any account the hours it will take me to read a book, nor the hours it will take me to write a review. A book review could be an investment of anywhere from 10-40 hours depending on the book. Ditto with me agreeing to teach a class. Ditto with me agreeing to helm a literary festival...or edit a magazine...or write a screenplay....and the list goes on and on. So this January, when I looked at what I was supposed to do the first 6 months of 2023, my stomach tied itself up into knots.
I had agreed to teach two classes, write 3 book reviews, conduct 2 author interviews, write 1 film treatment and 1 screenplay, moderate 2 conference panels at two different conferences on the West Coast, as well as edit a magazine, launch a chapbook, write the rough draft of my third novel, do several rounds of copy edits for my second novel, give an author talk at my local library, moderate 4 conversations with 4 different authors locally, run a half marathon, and plan and host a 3-day literary festival in Boston. And play King Ahasuerus in my synagogue's Purim play.
I look adorable though, don't I??
Obviously this was too much. I sadly left The Rumpus because I couldn't keep up with the workload anymore. And I ended up dropping out of the half marathon because I didn't feel like I'd trained enough. I hate flaking on commitments, but I just couldn't do it all. I felt like I was drowning all the time.
Amidst all the chaos, one of the author interviews I conducted was with Jennifer Michael Hecht, author of The Wonder Paradox: Embracing the Weirdness of Existence and the Poetry of Our Lives. This is an extraordinary book about using poetry in place of, or perhaps in companion to, religion. For what is religion, she says, but a combination of poetry and ritual?
The book is an incredible meditation on the power of poetry, but it's also a generous and insightful look at what ails us today and how we may find solace in poems and in communion with others. In a section on meditation, Hecht writes about exactly our present circumstance of being overstretched and overburdened:
"The iconic modern person is sketched with a short attention span, but a long capacity for worry…We get hit with so much life to manage and yet can feel that the struggle is making us miss out on life.”
Sound familiar??
So what's the solution? Besides throwing our phones in the ocean and taking an extended holiday in Switzerland? I think it's to be found in noticing. In slowing down. In taking stock. In breathing. In walking. In reaching out and speaking. In hobbying, reading, tasting, laughing. In saying no. Easier said than done, I know. Time is a luxury not equally shared. But unplugging for a little while, just long enough to sit outside for five minutes and listen to the wind in the trees, is a start.
And so I will leave you with the poem, "To Daffodils" by Robert Herrick. May your spring be restful and bright, before your hours too, dry away.
Fair Daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon;
As yet the early-rising sun
Has not attain'd his noon.
Stay, stay,
Until the hasting day
Has run
But to the even-song;
And, having pray'd together, we
Will go with you along.
We have short time to stay, as you,
We have as short a spring;
As quick a growth to meet decay,
As you, or anything.
We die
As your hours do, and dry
Away,
Like to the summer's rain;
Or as the pearls of morning's dew,
Ne'er to be found again.
xoxo,
Elizabeth
Upcoming events!
If you're in Sharon, MA I will be speaking at the Sharon Public Library tomorrow night at 6:30! A Comedy of Failures: My Path to Publication will be sort of a comedic TED talk about my long and circuitous path to publication and the many (many) potholes along the way. Refreshments will be provided. Register here.
On May 4th I'll be in conversation with the inimitable Cleyvis Natera, author of Neruda on the Park, at Porter Square Books, 50 Liberty Dr. in Boston. This event is in partnership with Grub Street and Boston Writers of Color.
On May 11 I'll be joined in conversation by the wonderful Christine Kandic Torres, launching the paperback of her hit novel, The Girls in Queens. We'll be at Inkfish Books on May 11. More info soon!
And on June 15 I'll be back at the Sharon Public Library to speak with Massachusetts favorite Connie Hertzberg Mayo about her latest historical fiction, The Sharp Edge of Mercy.
Hope to see you there!
Elizabeth Gonzalez James is the author of the novels Mona at Sea (SFWP, 2021) and The Bullet Swallower (forthcoming, 2024), and the chapbook, Five Conversations About Peter Sellers (Texas Review Press, 2023). Originally from South Texas, she currently lives in Massachusetts with her family.
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