My (somewhat) resilient brain
It’s a late hour on a cold night as I try to muster any ounce of creativity that I have. Any idea of what I want to write and what thought I was going to have alternates with whether or not this essay is worth it or I’m worth it.
This channeling of creativity (or lack thereof) is an act of trying to remain resilient — and it is easier said than done.
In the past several weeks, the uncertainty of the future and the challenges of keeping body and soul together combined with the eagerness for change was proving to be too much. I found myself overwhelmed, and whatever was left of my self-esteem and confidence was drifting away. I was ready to throw in the towel — but that wasn’t an option.
So I did something I don’t normally do — something that is usually not in my nature, as I’m more interested in helping others. I asked for help, and when I did, on Valentine’s Day no less, I got a surprise Valentine — reassurance in response to hesitation. I was hesitant knowing that people are busy and have lives to lead, and that I didn’t want to be a burden to others.
An industry friend called my bluff. She said that I was not a burden, and asking for help would not change that. She said something more too — that I have so much to contribute to journalism and to the world, and with so much going on in media, she wanted me here to see the changes happen.
“The capacity to recover quickly from difficulties; toughness.” — The definition of resilience in the Oxford English Dictionary
Journalists are, by nature, supposed to have a thick skin — to be as tough as steel. They are designed to be able to survive covering any story or doing any interview, withstand relentless abuse by trolls on Twitter, and function while job security becomes the big headline around them. Super Tuesday is a day of super resilience — for if there is something that’s gone wrong, journalists won’t show it, because it isn’t about them, it’s about the audience.
Yet, journalists are human beings too. They, like all human beings, have their breaking points — the points when peaceful serenity becomes abrupt chaos and the world around them becomes a little too cruel. Everyone has them, yet in the world of journalism, they are taboo subjects where discussion coincides with a risk of lost opportunity. In other words, they are no-go areas.
That’s not how it should be. In a time where change and uncertainty represent a norm in 21st century journalism, many in the industry, especially those who are early in their careers like myself, can feel isolated and alone. They know full well of the need to be resilient, yet resilience can only be accomplished with the help of others, and not feeling lost in the lurch.
Recently, someone told me in a text message that I was brave for carrying on through hardship. While I appreciated the compliment, I didn’t see myself as being brave. Instead, I saw myself as just moving forward and exercising the only option I have — keep going and be resilient — even though, I admit, there are difficulties in accomplishing that, particularly in trying to be creative.
It is not impossible however, for in the midst of trauma and hardship, people have been able to do creative things. I think particularly of the journalist Katie Hawkins-Gaar, whose husband, Jamie, died three years ago, and who has spoken about how writing has been cathartic for her in trying to find direction.
Recently, in response to an essay about the fragility of life, chronicled in her newsletter My Sweet Dumb Brain, a reader put forward this quote from the author Ernest Hemingway, which Hawkins-Gaar highlighted, and can be considered as a credo for resilience.
“The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places.”
The act of resilience is easier said than done. Like everyone else, I have good days and I have bad days — days where I feel inspired with ideas and days where I don’t. I have days where life at hand gets to be a little much.
Yet, I keep going — because somewhere, along the line, the fog will dissipate. The tedium of this situation will end. Until then, I keep going. I look for jobs. I network (or try to). I attempt to be creative, even if my brain does not want to cooperate. I try to keep body and soul together while the world moves forward.
I keep going not because I am necessarily succeeding at it, but because I want to contribute. I want to be around to see the changes unfolding and what it all means for journalism. I want to work with people whose work I admire and respect and help them make things better. I want to make my mom proud.
I keep going today, and I’ll keep going tomorrow — even if I can’t remember exactly what idea or thought I have, because I know that I’m not alone.
