Tension and Kindness

Over the past few days I’ve watched from a distance as my hometown burned. The dark and billowing skyline resembles some tremendous storm, but this storm is dry and composed of smoke, soot, and ash. Palm trees alight, flames leap in chaos with no discernment between dwelling and commerce, the landscape blistered and boiling. Reminiscent of the imagery of hell, Los Angeles is burning.

I’ve been there for riots and earthquakes, and even fires. But I’ve never felt so distantly helpless. Friends’ homes, the school my children attended, stores I shopped at, whole neighborhoods no longer exist. Those of my friends and family who haven’t been evacuated sit waiting with bags packed, ready to flee.

I’m currently on the other side of the country, and all I can do is watch the news and check in with those I love. The small images on my phone and videos shared by friends encapsulate their experiences so precisely and profoundly. They play on and on and on in an endless loop at my fingertips behest. The images my mind feeds me constantly updated with new graphic horrors.

Some part of me seeks an alleviation to the panic that surges, that feeling of helplessness and loss of control could be quickly quelled though the methods of my youth. Some part of me wants to soothe or anesthetize these feelings away. The warm settling feeling of a big meal, the gentle caress of drugs and alcohol, these solutions I learned so long ago that took what seems like a lifetime to unlearn. They’re still offered up as solutions today. That tiny voice within me whispers incantations of reprieve, “the tension is a thirst and if you quench it, you will know relief…”

For so many years, I sought sedation and believed that my pursuit was a solemn act of kindness. My internal tension felt to some degree to contribute to my overall inadequacy and shame. Any lessening of it was the sole act of decency towards self that I could muster. I became so blinded by this numbness that I neglected to pay attention to its price.

Today I seek kindness toward self, though now I understand that kindness and comfort are not the same thing. It’s a learned practice, something not innate to me. The kindness is in accepting how I feel and a recognition that the feeling, as it is, is tolerable. The kindness is in knowing that self harm will be of no benefit to others, least of all myself. That my desire to soothe myself is actually a cowardly selfishness that is entirely repulsive to me.

I recognize that there are many parts of me. Some of which seem to work against each other. The first half of my life was spent tossed back and forth amongst these vectors. I wanted so badly to persist in some direction but found myself undermining this at every opportunity. There was no central theme or narrative that I was actively participating in. Capitulation was my mode of operation, I moved with the internal wind and wondered why I couldn’t progress.

It was in predetermined kindness that I found direction. Would I let my three-year-old daughter juggle sharp knives? Is taking something harmful away from her an act of savagery? Kindness isn’t always easy, it isn’t always fun, it simply puts another step in the direction of the life I really want.

Today I am going to go for a walk, look out, speak with friends and family. Today I acknowledge the tension within me and I accept it. It isn’t a permanent state, and I have faith that it will pass. Today my kindness is in enduring its difficulty.

What strength I have today has all come at the cost of some suffering. Tension and effort are two fundamentals in building strength, whether internal or external. This gives great rise to hope, hope for a stronger tomorrow, so long as I don’t lose sight of this truth.

Today I will be kind to myself, be of service to others, and have faith in a stronger Los Angeles for tomorrow.

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