Something for the weariness

Something for the weariness

I didn’t use to understand why people hated  the newspaper. Their repeated use of phrases like “the same old bull” or “great, more messiness” when confronted with the news of the day astonished and slightly annoyed me. I figured that there must be a lack of interest at the root of this aversion, a badly disguised insularity that penetrated people’s thinking like a tumor. And I took pride in the fact that I, who had previously had his awakening to the sheer infinity of interesting facts and narratives the big, wide world offered, was different. I would not close my eyes to the truth, I would not shy away from the occasional ugliness of the world, I would take up the responsibility of knowing.

 It has been three years now and it’s fair to say that my opinion has undergone a slight change. I’ve read about three wars, dozens of uprisings and even more terrorist attacks. I’ve read about environmental catastrophes, famine and sickness. I’ve read about corruption, greed and corporate irresponsibility. I’ve read the word “crisis” more often than any other. And even though I tried - and still am trying - hard not to let the misery get to me, when it comes to international affairs, politics, the environment or the basic belief in human goodness, it’s fair to say that I’ve learned my lesson. More than that. I feel that not only do I completely understand people’s tendency to avoid the news like they’d avoid a poisonous dart, but I actually feel like I have had enough. Nice to make your acquaintance, humanity, but I think I’ll keep looking for someone more positive. The best word to describe this state that I’ve read, listened and watched myself into is “weariness”. I sit in front of the TV or bent over the newspaper and all I can think about while reading about the massacres, crimes and crises is that it’s just the same old song all over. Who cares?

Yet, once you’ve gotten used to being up to date, it’s hard to quit. Information is modern society’s currency and dispensing with it is a decision one shouldn’t take lightly. So how can one take the daily madness without going nuts? Here are some of the ways I considered.

1) You stop caring.

2) You take action.

3) You find something that transcends it.

I decided against the first option mostly because it happens anyway to some degree without you actively choosing do become like that. The second option sounded reasonable, but I realized that at this point in my life I had enough on my plate already without burning myself trying to save the planet. The last option sounded interesting and, luckily, for a student of literature there’s nothing easier. Really, there’s no more efficient method to get rid of the weltschmerz emanating from the pens of cynical journalists than to jump into the cool pool of art. Shut out the evilness of this wretched rock and indulge in someone else’s fantasy. The weird thing is, you don’t even have to choose a particularly mellow book to feel the recreational effects. Any work of fiction is fine. It can take you to the same battlegrounds you read about everyday in sharp, pointed prose and be more graphic and detailed at it than any article could ever hope to be, still, you’ll feel better after reading  a few dozen or so pages in it. It really is strange.

I recommend this form of therapy to anyone depressed about the current state of world affairs and who can’t take much more of this sort of mediated world experience. I don’t quite remember who said it, it might have been Adorno or Benjamin, but the statement that art is the way humans cope with the terror of existence definitely rings true in my ears.