Are You Trigger Happy?

No, this isn't a post either for, or against, some Second Amendment aspect. So all of you on either side of the fence...just take a deep breath, relax, and move along if you need to.

There. Now, for the REST of us...

Recently, in some FB writing groups--and in the Twitterverse from time to time--the question has arisen about putting "trigger warnings" on our writing.  So people who have "issues" won't stumble into something that makes their lives miserable, even for a moment.  And the general consensus seems to be incredibly generous and benevolent: "Oh, of course we should do that. People should feel safe reading our writing."

Too bad it's hogwash.

Feel free to call me names, if you like. Everyone who's come out on the "other side" of this question has been labeled, defamed, and otherwise insulted, by people who don't know anything more about them than that they dared to say, "But, wait a minute."  (A rather interesting reaction from those claiming to espouse a point of view that emphasizes "compassion." LOL)

The fact is, it is hogwash. For many reasons--but two main ones are the strongest:

1) It is impossible to anticipate every potential trigger in a reader. 

Or, to put it more colloquially..."Everybody's bothered by something."

If there's one thing I've learned by being in a heavy-duty grief process--and supporting others in same--over the last six years, it's that everyone processes life differently. My grief is not your grief. Therefore, my triggers are not your triggers.

My triggers can even change from day to day, week to week, and mood to mood. 

Sometimes, I can't bear to hear songs from the 80s, because they bring back too many memories of my husband; sometimes, I embrace them, because they make me laugh, smile, or dance.

Sometimes, I find comfort in rereading love letters. Sometimes, they tear me apart.

Sometimes, I enjoy seeing young families out having fun together. Sometimes, they only reiterate to me what I will never have again.

I know people who've dissolved while shopping for groceries, because their spouse was a "foodie." Or smelling a favorite flower, because it was an unforgettable first bouquet he gave them. Or trying to navigate past a greeting-card or gift aisle when it's full of valentines or other "special occasion" reminders...that, frankly, only bring pain. 

But we don't tell stores they can't play oldies over their Muzak.

We don't put up caution signs at the end of greeting-card or flower aisles.

And we don't limit families to one end of the picnic area, and singles to the other.

Just. In. Case.

Neither can we anticipate what may trigger someone in our writing.

So, the only option we have available is to issue...what?

Blanket "caution" signs?

Some writers claim that the only "trigger warnings" necessary apply to scenes that involve violence--especially sexual--or abuse--again, especially sexual. But what that's saying is that certain kinds of trauma are worse, or more "worthy" of being warned about, than others.

And that's hogwash, too.  Because trauma is trauma. Pain is pain. And espousing that kind of narrow, discriminatory "compassion" is just plain ignoring the facts.

Which leads us right into the second reason "trigger warnings" are hogwash:

2) It's not an author's job to police your eyes...or mind.

If you read back cover copy of a book and it uses terms like "gritty" or "seamy," or comes right out and talks about sex and weapons and crime and danger...don't you kind of know what you're going to get on the inside?

And if that reflects something of your past, something you're still healing from...

Don't read the book.

Kind of obvious, isn't it?

And no, I don't mean to be callous here. But it's come to a point in today's culture where no one is responsible for anything they, themselves, do anymore.  It's always someone else's job to "protect" them and give them a "safe place"...

...while at the same time, these people rail against censorship of any kind.

Or, to put this more colloquially, "You can't have it both ways."

If I read something that's advertised as a "hot" book, and I then complain because it's sexy, who's at fault here? The author, for not warning me that some scenes may be offensive or objectionable to me? Or me, the reader, for deliberately wading into the swamp without mosquito spray and then blaming the swamp because I got bitten?

The bottom line is, we cannot hope to cover, protect, and shield everyone from everything that's ever going to trigger them. And if we can't do it for everyone, it's both shallow and pointless to do it only for certain people and certain traumas.  

Occasionally, yes, we can get ambushed by something. We in grief know all about that, too.  And that might mean that, temporarily, we've got to absent ourselves from the site, the page, or the author's work that did that. We might be able to return, again, at a future date...when we're stronger. Triggers aren't always forever, either. 

But, again...that's our stuff. Not a culture's. Not a grocery store's. Not a florist's. 

And it shouldn't have to be an author's, either.

Thoughts?

Janny

No, It's Not Bohemian Rhapsody...

 ...but this week's Musical Monday selection does offer us a visit from Scaramouche!

Enjoy...

Janny

In Praise of a Truly "Small" World

Many years ago, when I had a short-lived (and doomed!) job as an administrative assistant for a PR firm, a coworker had a radio on all day playing pop music. Why do I remember that so well? Because of one song in particular: the infamous Disney theme from EPCOT, "It's A Small World, After All."

For some reason, 70s pop music stations thought they should bombard us with that song at least once a day. If not more often. Don't ask ME why; I could barely tolerate it. But my coworker had a different, and much more dramatic, reaction to the thing. Every time it'd come on the radio, she'd call someone--I have no idea whom--and tell them their song was on.

Every. Single. Time.

I couldn't help but wonder whom she was calling (I never asked) or why. Clearly, that song meant something to someone in her world, and so every time she heard it, she'd share it. And since this station played it regularly, that gave her an excuse to make a personal phone call every single morning. In between lighting cigarettes and chain-smoking. Which she did, in the office. Because those were the days when you still could do such things in an office!

This song came to mind (briefly only, thank heaven) when I read a FB entry by a fellow author about getting to know an online consultant in Ukraine, and sharing a few thoughts with that man. And our author friend concluded with the obvious: that, in the end, a lot of the social and political issues we're obsessing about in this country really aren't all that important, and we should remember the suffering fellow human beings closer to us than we might think--hence, the "small world."

All of which is true.  And worth understanding.

But, in my perspective, is an attitude that can also be hazardous as a steady diet.

In our everyday existences, our own worlds are very small, indeed. We deal with minutiae: kids and parents and neighbors and carpools and appliances breaking down and Internet access and work issues and laundry and dinner and mowing the lawn and what our pets are getting into...

It can all seem so insignificant and selfish, compared to the "problems of the world."

But the little-known (and even less-believed) secret?

It's not.

Contrary to what media and culture seem bent on "guilting" us with--this small, limited, "unimportant" life most of us live is not only whole, and real, and legitimate...but a healthy, sane means by which we effect long-term betterment for an entire world.

Something that, by contrast, is not accomplished--and can never be--by constantly looking outward instead, and agonizing about all the things beyond our scope to fix.

This concept may be horrifying to some of you, in that it comes across as self-absorbed to the max. It concentrates on who, and what, is right in front of you, what your day brings in terms of challenges and opportunities. And leaves the rest to fate. Or God. Or whatever higher power you recognize (and we all recognize one, whether we admit it or not).  

What does a life look like that's lived this way?

Rather peaceful, truth be told.

And I can say that because it's a life I've lived for years.

My life is, quite deliberately, not hemmed by news reporting, argument, or gossip.

It is a life not governed by worry, stress, frustration, or rage.

It is a life in which I can go for days without knowing that a natural disaster occurred thousands of miles away, on the other side of the world...and, consequently, without feeling awful about it.

It is a life in which I am "behind the curve" in terms of contemporary mores, tragedies, or social idiocies...and consequently, don't expend energy or emotional investment on them.

It is a life in which, as much as possible, I try to stay focused on things I can do.

Things I can control.

Lives I can impact.

Direct actions I can take to influence policy, personalities, or public opinion.

The rest, I ignore.

Yes. You heard that right.

I can hear the indignant reactions now.

"What do you mean, you ignore what's happening all over the world? You have to be informed! You need to know what's going on!"

To which I always respond, "Why?"

And, to this day, I haven't gotten a good answer to that question.

In fact, the people I know who make it their business to be "informed," and who do always "know what's going on"? By and large? Are psychological messes.

They're so balled up in anxiety, in anger, in fear, in worry, and in suspicion and/or cynicism that, ironically enough, their lives are  "smaller" than mine is. They don't "dare" do things I'll do in a heartbeat, because it's "not safe" to do those things. Even when, as I do them, I'm perfectly safe the entire time...and enjoy myself in the bargain. And speaking of enjoyment? Some of these "informed" people can barely laugh, really laugh, at anything anymore. Or make a joke, even a perfectly innocent one, without looking over their shoulders.

Surely, that's not the way human beings are supposed to live.

Because, during His time on earth, even God laughed.

Yes, He did. 

And yes, He cried, too.

But He lived in balance. And when the world was too much with Him, or His disciples, He urged them to get away. To separate themselves from the melee, take some time for peace and quiet, and recollect.

Reconnect.

Renew.

Refresh.

Some of us take "retreats" in which we do these things. But I firmly believe we need to go way beyond intermittent "escape"...and start practicing some judicious, everyday ignorance. 

Because a life lived with one's finger endlessly on the pulse of the world at large, endlessly vigilant, and endlessly concerned about things that, most of the time, we have no control over...

Has no room for refreshment, recollection, reconnection, or renewal.

And eventually, then, it has no room for humor. 

Or whimsy. 

Or creativity. 

Or spontaneity. 

Or optimism.

Or...faith. Or hope. Or real charity.

I have all of these elements still at my disposal. And I use them, when I can, and when I need to, to make things better. I don't have to go looking for opportunities, either. What needs me to tend to it, as I've often said, shows up--without fail--at the doorstep. 

Which is plenty soon enough to deal with it.

Remember, Jesus worked miracles one person at a time. He was divine--but He still understood, and respected, sane human limits.

No amount of "information" will give you superhuman powers to go beyond that.

So stop expecting it to--or expecting yourself to be superhuman as a result. 

I do my best with the small world I've been given to live and move in.

And in the end, I believe, that will turn out to be more than enough.

Thoughts?

Janny

"I'll Be Bach."

Happy Musical Monday!

Well, okay, technically I won't be...but HE will.
Enjoy!

Janny

"They're Playin' Bas-ket-baaallll..."

...and it came to pass, in the gray days of March, that the Lord looked down on his American people and said:

"Hey, word up, there's nothin' happenin' down there. This is neither spring, nor winter, neither hot nor cold. It is not good to have man living in these doldrums of halfway between.

"So let us shaketh things up a bit. Let us make of March a special time, that shall be henceforth known as 'Madness.'* At this time, men shall procure a roundball, made of leather, filled with the breath of the wind, and shall bring it to a 94-foot hardwood court. There, they shall string cotton beneath a wide orange cylinder of metal, one at each end of the court, at a height of 10 feet from the floor. And groups of men shall band together, and shall make it a mission to launch the roundball through the cylinder, so that it makes a special music through the cotton cords. And yea, verily, when the roundball passeth through the cotton net, there shall be rejoicing and great jubilation in many lands.

"They shall do this in the city; they shall do this in the country. They shall do this in the small town, in the places time forgot. They shall do this in the Ivy League and in the Midwest Athletic Conference, on the Atlantic coast and in the heartlands; in the Mountain West and the Pacific lowlands; and the people shall behold it and marvel.

"And let us make this an annual feast, a time when small men can dream big dreams. Let us celebrate and rejoice, and make merry, when the Big Dancing begins. And let March be forever blessed with this glorious festival of team colors and cheerleaders, slammin' and jammin', 'diaper dandies' and buzzer-beaters...to bring joy and craziness to all my people."

And God saw it...and it was very good.

Let there be Roundball!!!!!!!

Janny
(*Yes, we are aware that the IHSA claims that Illinois High School Basketball was the original "March Madness," and we have no doubt whatsoever that this is true, as we can remember this term from way before it was used for the NCAA Tournament. We have merely exercised a little poetic license here, and trust that the reader will be accommodating.)

***(Reprinted from March, 2009)***