Thoughts on choosing journalism and choosing to stay.
Trigger warning for mentions of suicide.
It’s like: How can we keep doing this? Making merry, shopping, indulging.
On Nov. 16, I went to the Lane Events Center as a student reporter.
It was my first attempt at reporting on Holiday Market 2024, and it was supposed to be something I would write about for both journalism class and The Torch.
Of course, the best conversations end up being the ones I don’t record.
One conversation in particular left me shaken and on the verge of tears, and who knows, maybe our talk would not have taken the turn it did had it been recorded, anyway.
I forgot what he said his name was. He was an older man, gray-white hair, glasses, roundish appearance, and a kind face. I wasn’t going to stop by the table initially, on a mission to find the face painting booth, but he called out to me, asking what I knew about the Kareng Fund. “Nothing,” I replied.
He happily explained to me how the Kareng Fund helps local artisans who have experienced potentially career-ending financial setbacks stay in operation.
They were doing a raffle for a basket of select goods from the Holiday Market. I should have taken pictures of the raffle basket and the booth and this man and written his name down, but anyway.
He had trouble with the technology aspect, not knowing he could tell people that the QR code on the info cards would pull up the Kareng Fund website with the donation button, so people could donate online if they didn’t have cash, show the proof of donation on the phone right there, and get the raffle tickets.
So I demonstrated that for him, explaining each step as I went, and donated 20 bucks to get five tickets. He was super thankful for that information and said it was “going to boost the ticket uptake,” and I was glad to be able to help out.
The part that derailed me from the rest of the event (other than the fact that I was experiencing a migraine aura the whole time without clocking it) was the turn our conversation took once he asked questions about the journalism class I mentioned I’m in. We then got to talking about his own opinions about journalism and the state of the country in general.
At one point, I said to him, “You know, I appreciate talking to people who have more life experience than me in general, and who have knowledge and training in different areas than I do.” Then I asked, “What are your thoughts on what is going on in the country right now?”
He replied something to the effect of, “So, I got my degree in history, and I am a history buff in general, and you know, all empires, at one point or another, reach a certain point…where one group tries to seize total control…” He went on to give several examples.
Then he said, “If they (meaning the GOP/conservatives in general) actually try to turn the country Christian Nationalist, there will be civil war.” He began to get tears in his eyes while saying, “We live in a really good community. We really do. I am…scared of what comes next…so I’m trying to just…enjoy every moment…”
Anyway, this conversation was going on amidst the din of Holiday Market, with the music stage and the food court just to the side and behind where we were.
This is why writing about the Holiday Market for journalism class and The Torch has been hard. It’s not just because I ended up not getting the right kind — or enough — information and pictures. It’s not just because I was wildly overstimulated and ended up with an incredibly bad migraine. It’s not just because I likely picked up a cold while there.
It’s all those things, plus there is an overwhelming wave of grief in my heart that has been building and building for so many years now that it has cracked the dam built around it. I can’t focus on anything other than the fact that it seems like so many people want to smile and wile away the time, as climate scientists around the world raise every alarm saying “We weren’t expecting temps or weather like we are seeing RIGHT NOW!!!” while nature is burning and being pillaged for everything it has to offer.
Indigenous peoples the world over are saying “We, our people, our lands, the plants and animals, are dying! The seas are taking our islands. Corporations poison our waters with their mines. They cut down and burn our forests for their factory farms!”
While the powers that be just keep gaslighting the population into voting for everyone’s destruction, while the maniacs allowed into power whip up hatred and vitriol with their words and actions and stoke and plan violence against people of color, immigrants, trans people, disabled people, my friends, my neighbors, myself.
I should have just gone to a Springfield City Council meeting.
I don’t know what I am supposed to do, and don’t know if I have what it takes to be a journalist. I don’t know if my body, brain, disabilities, or raw, angry heart will let me.
However, meeting, talking to, and connecting with people of all ages and backgrounds for brief, blindingly real moments in time, getting their thoughts, opinions and stories, even if it leaves me shaken, actually fuels me.
I want to be a writer or a teller of stories in some capacity, but I don’t know what direction to go. I often can’t handle being in overstimulating environments without a migraine for days afterward, and I keep forgetting that those two things are related. My disabled body is tired as fuck and needs lots of rest. It can’t handle lots of activity.
In one-on-one interviews though, people tend to open up to me quickly, more often than not. And I thrive when they do. It gives me energy to see them light up, tear up, or whatever they feel on their faces. As they tell their stories and explain their thoughts, it makes me want to do them justice with my own words to capture who they are and what they are saying as accurately as possible.
However, the worry is still there that I won’t be able to handle the pace or the go-anywhere needs of the typical journalism job.
Also, I want to kill myself 50-90% of the time. It can fade to background noise when I am with others, and the feeling does swing like a pendulum — has been that way for years — but I’m working hard to overcome it. There are lots of people all around the world, in many circumstances and situations, who would really like to live free of tyranny, genocide, war, death from climate disaster, etc. Staying alive for them, speaking up for them and writing about them are some of the only things I can do if I say I care.
Then I read about the suicide of activist Kianoosh Sanjari and I’m like, shit, maybe I should just go out making a statement that will say more than a lifetime of writing ever will.
However, I am trying to keep in mind today (and every day) that staying alive is an act of resistance and rebellion, staying alive is an act of radical self-acceptance, staying alive is me caring for my loved ones (my friends), staying alive is me caring for my pets, staying alive is the only way I can make a difference here, it is something that has to be chosen, moment by moment at times.
When it feels like a great idea to burn my life to the ground before blasting my brains out, I must recognize that doing so would be both a privileged and selfish choice.
My found family, my community, the ability to give and receive love, and the ability to create a solid foundation for myself through the relationships I choose to cultivate are here, on the living plane, not the astral. We can only do the work to make the world a better place for everyone when we are alive to make it so.
Still, I am scared for what is to come and sickened by what has already happened.
Even so, I feel compelled to persist, to reach out for help when I need it, to help others when I can, and not to let the social and environmental devastation I see daily on my screen and in my community stop me from fighting for a free and livable future for all.
Instead, I must let the suffering I have seen and experienced drive me forward. Let it remove all fear and uncertainty from my heart as I allow myself to follow that little spark that lights up my soul when listening to and telling people’s stories.
That is all I can do right now.
The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is 988 (call or text), online chat at https://chat.988lifeline.org. The Oregon Youth Hotline is 877-968-8491, or text teen2teen to 839863.
