We are no strangers to the world around us, mostly that of stress, rage, and sadness. But as we twenty-something's enter the world, are we better equipped to handle such emotions?
| 7 minute read|
If you've had consciousness for the last handful of years, then you’re no stranger to sadness; that big gnarly beast that hides in your closet as you sleep. The nasty thing that hides within your shadows, casted long and far beneath your feet. The surly stalker that ducks behind the garbage cans as you pass by. And alone as you sit, it takes a seat beside you, slowly slowly slowly whisks you away into hiccuped breaths and a wet face of smudged tears.
Unfortunately we are among a generation born into such stark sadness. Brought into the world in the aftermath of September 11th, a grieving country we crawled upon. A few years of crayons, sidewalk chalk, and stickerbooks and the air then carried the stagnant fate of an economic crash, as we complained about finishing our vegetables at dinner, just wishing for soft baked chocolate chip cookies.
We were set free from the cellar of sadness for a few years, if we were lucky, then walked smack into a pandemic, something that nobody had experienced; blind leading the blind, us sadsters leading each other towards tiktok dances and whipped coffee. Within the bubble of quarantine, we found ourselves with a voice, engaged in civil and political protests, delivering us once more into a (sort of) period of peace, before we nose dived into our current crisis. An economic and political nightmare that seems too horrible to be true. And that encompasses about 25 years, give or take of course.
So with my times tables I learned grief. With my cursive I learned of sadness. As I learned grammar, I also learned of anxiety. But do we have the upper hand because of a tumultuous upbringing? I’d like to think so. Because we have had an innate sense of what it means to withstand times of trouble, there is a dire inclination we possess to make things better, or at least better to bear. If not for the sake of logic, for the sake of hope, and for finding the sliver of good; a skill I believe we inherited as a survival instinct, our radical relationship with reality. We move about the world in a shaded picture, one not created of dreamy pastel watercolors, but the harsh inky blotching of graphite. What does this make of us? How is it affecting the way we move towards our future?
With one hand on the wheel and one hand clutching my chest, I drove at 65 miles an hour with tears down my face. Obviously now I understand my greatest mistake was listening to her music so close to her death, but as “Coat of Many Colors,” sailed me down the freeway, I couldn’t help but sit with my childhood friend of sadness. In our many woes, even societal woes, we cling to the good, and Dolly was a part of that glimmering beam of awe and wonder and proof that people were still good deep down in their bones.
So when that is taken away, it cuts deeper than we can think, pillars of goodness, pillars of welfare, we have felt it all before. We see neighborhoods cast in the shower of towering data centers, yet Dolly wanted to make sure a 2 year old was able to receive a book every month. When that sparkle of joy is gone, we feel the grief so irrevocably, it almost shakes us to our core. Because things can’t be that bad… right?
When I’m due for that time of the month, for a long time, my tell-tale sign was that I would cry thinking about how upset I was that David Bowie was dead. Maybe I listened to “Heroes” a bit too much, guilty as charged, but the visceral feeling I had was not a thing I learned, that deep pit of misery has seemingly always been a part of me. The ability to feel with such emotion, no matter how little or how large. Everything seems so important, so serious, and in hindsight, that's what we were taught, recess with a side of natural disaster.
Sadness doesn't show up alone as we know, accompanied by other long lost lovers of emotions. I have sat with my head in my hands, begging for my heart to stop racing, “What am I supposed to do?” pounding, ricocheting in my head. I’ve pointed my finger with a fist full of fury, steaming tears down my face swallowing anger whole like a shiny red apple, gulping down bites of frustration. Desperation and disclosure. Rage and resentments. Betrayals and bewilderment. Yet we do not choose to leave, we wait until the feeling escapes us. The totality of being, as we are, in the day we live. And then we press on.
Sadness and anger, as I scroll on tiktok and see wildlife fighting to survive in the land they have existed on longer than we have. Sadness and outrage, as I listen to the unintelligent ramblings of Trump, drooling on words that have become too big for him. Sadness and worry, staying in touch with a friend going through their own mix of emotions. Sadness and stress, as I apply for job after job, waiting so patiently for an acceptance. In those moments, the world feels over, like those are the only two emotions I will ever feel again. Introspectively, I’ve played this game before, I’ve been brought up on fear, on anger, on sadness, on frustration, on emotions that make someone get loud, on emotions that make people shrink down, on emotions that people roll over and over on their tongue because it's hard to grasp what it really is. I’ve got the upper hand. We’ve got the upper hand.
However, I didn’t drag you here to make you feel upset. Rather, I think we can agree on one thing; our experience with sadness has granted us the experience of evolution- to evolve into more intelligent people as a result of the circumstances we have encountered since we first took root into the world.
There is a reason for us to grieve everyday for the future we were promised. Arriving in our 20’s to a world in disarray, where the people who hold the cards are so aloof to the reality we are all living. Betrayed by a society that shuns us for carrying credit card debt, yet is $40 trillion dollars in national debt (genuinely come on). But a pattern I see, and a pattern I want to pursue, is the rigidity of perseverance. We weren’t granted the luxuries our parents had let alone our grandparents, but we can fall back on our generational quip with sadness; been there, done that. There is a way to make it work, and the twenty-somethings are going to find a way to do it.
I’m not sure how this became a call to action, but I’m going to let that take the wheel. Our sadness we know, so it cannot prevail. It has been the backdrop to our lives, yet we don’t need to succumb. And by no means am I saying don’t be sad, the moments after become the driving force, to our own narrative, to the narrative of society, to the narrative our kids will be brought into. We recognize feelings as things we can handle, things that we can yield for our own good, to utilize as a resource, not as a constraint to the lives we desire. Well prepared are we, the ones not afraid to sit with our sadness.
all feelings live on,
natalie <3
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