Find Your Tribe: When Life Feels Threatening, What Do You Do?

Too Old for This Sh*t: How to Take Your Life Back from an Ageist Society

Photo by Melanie Wasser on Unsplash

What I’m doing the morning after a terrible event

When life throws us a curve ball, what do you do? Many if not most of us are well aware of what took place during a Republican rally last night. And lots of people can feel legitimately threatened, particularly if they spend a lot of time on social media. This article, I hope, speaks not to the politics, but perhaps to what anyone might do when events larger than we are can feel terrifying.

In four hours, my trip on the Lower Salmon begins after a noon safety briefing. I have the gift of time to write a few words before we take off in the stunning heat to ride the rapids. Then I have four days plus of blissful non-news, being in the company of three grandparents and their grandkids, riding the rapids and camping on the shores. That’s hard to beat.

I’ve had time to repack my river gear, now that I know the temperatures of the water and the air. At least six pounds of gear stay in my car until we get back.

Right after the latest bad news I made a call to one of my closest friends, whose phone was blowing up last night after the assassination attempt. We focused on our sanity, sense of humor and calm.

This morning I called him again. He told me he was having terrible digestive issues. I made him guffaw with a story of when I was hit with something similar decades ago in a place where I couldn’t do a damned thing about it. The story made us both spit our coffee.

That is how we heal each other.

My hotel is in the middle of bright red MAGA country. We’re also surrounded by the Paloose, a breathtakingly gorgeous part of grain-growing SE Washington State dotted with tiny towns full of huge old buildings and lots of history.

Driving the 12 through this part of Washington State is such a gift this time of year. Two observations. This is what you get to see:

These are two views, which barely communicate the unbelievable beauty of this area, particularly in high summer.

But then there’s this, small-town Dayton’s tribute to her graduating seniors, all along a decorated main street:

I grew up in small-town Florida. Small towns have their challenges, but this is part of what small towns do that big cities forget to do in their teeming anonymity. Culturally-rich neighborhoods in big cities have this kind of feeling as well. This just reminded me of how essential it is to celebrate the small things, because life is so full of them.

Communities do this. You and I are able to build community anywhere, if we’re willing to engage, and of course, risk rejection.

This morning I went to get coffee in the busy downstairs. First, though, I dropped off my extra gear in my car. On the way, I passed a woman who was shoving her gear into a dry bag, so I had to find out if she was part of my group.

Nope. However Julie turned out to be from Springfield, Oregon, the town that abuts Eugene with I-5 separating us. That led to a lively conversation. I met other members of her group. I gave her my card and invited her to reach out any time.

This is how we make friends, but we have to do the work to say hello first.

The lobby was crammed with people, many of whom were pushing luggage carts full of dry bags. The river will be busy, so we’ll be seeing these folks as my group bumps along.

At the breakfast bar, I asked one woman if she was going to be on the river. No, she said, “We’re here for the Little League.” Big doings for little kids, and she was very excited. I was excited for her and grinned back. She was so energized that she was spilling eggs everywhere. When was the last time you were that jazzed?

The breakfast area was full of uniformed boys bouncing around, eager to get to the playoffs.

I am just as eager as those little boys to get on the river as they are to grab a bat and win the game.

As I sat down with my one allotted cup of coffee for the day, several very large men walked by in their motorcycle leathers. Some folks find these guys frightening. Their leathers read “Combat Vets.” So I walked to their table, said thank you for your service, and told them that I, too was a veteran.

Nothing connects people faster than to find out that you’re speaking to someone who also took the oath. Chances are we don’t vote the same, but we are still connected in a visceral, terribly important way.

That’s all I focused on.

It never fails; even with the most grumpy, when you acknowledge service and sacrifice, especially if you can share that you, too, served, you will get a smile and recognition. I see you.

People connecting.

When we focus on how we are connected, what we share, we are reminded of our value to one another.

As I push my cart around a busy store, my favorite laugh line, especially when people end up jammed together in a crowded aisle, is

“It’s a good thing I don’t drive like this.”

It never fails to get a giggle. Yesterday, for some reason, one older man found that extremely funny, and laughed for several aisles over. Doesn’t matter why. I was delighted to have been the author of that.

Making people laugh with self-effacing humor never fails to connect us.

My tribe is everybody. On a day when plenty is afoot on social media, the lobby here was crammed with people who can’t wait to hit the ball, hit the water, hit the road.

Life goes on. We can choose to be part of the larger tribe and connect with people by acknowledging something positive. By making people laugh with us. Helping them feel safe.

We can choose to isolate ourselves based on red or blue or whatever, and find plenty of reasons to distrust, hate or fuel what separates us.

I fully recognize where we are as a nation. I’m no fool. But I also know that my state of mind is my responsibility, and the state of those around me is also affected by how I choose to show up.

At six am today on my Twitter feed, a neighbor whom I know to be a Trump supporter, apologized to all of us for her dog, Kirby, who had been barking all night. As it turns out, her husband, who is not well, fell and broke three ribs. She had to leave the dog on their balcony all night while she was at the ICU.

I fired her a note and said that as soon as I got back, if she needed me to spell her by taking Kirby for a time or if she needed an extra set of hands to please count me in.

Does it matter to me how she votes?

NO. She’s my neighbor. We’re all the same age. We’re all dealing with such issues, health or aging or finances or isolation or all the above and worse. We all need to show up for each other.

If my neighbor is in trouble I don’t give a damn what the political sign says in their yard. You show up.

While some of them might not feel the same about me, I still believe that you give what you most need from others. You and I get to choose to model what citizenship looks like. Of course it’s hard if we vehemently disagree with them.

When we do what’s hard, we lift everyone.

I’m not all that. This doesn’t make me heroic. Like everyone I have real fears, real concerns, and am trying to find my way. This is my way. Doesn’t make me right, but the results I get are a lot better than being hateful and angry. In the past I’ve allowed myself to get caught up in ugly rhetoric and the cost is too high.

I choose differently. Especially right now.

I am surrounded by people getting ready for a fun Sunday of championship baseball, riding their rigs on the gorgeous, winding Highway 12 of the Paloose, and like me, getting wet on the wild Lower Salmon.

It’s going to be a fantastic day. I’ve decided that already. And so it will.

I hope it will be for you, too. Let’s find what connects us. Right now, more than ever, we need to find ways to acknowledge the connective tissue of our humanity.

Let’s play.

Photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash

I sincerely hope this article touched a responsive chord. If so, please consider

If you know someone who could use a reminder of how to reconnect at at time when it can feel isolating, please also consider

When we play, we feel joy. When we feel joy, we re more likely to be brave. So let’s play. Please.