I woke up on Monday morning in a panic. My mind raced. My heart pounded. I felt as if the weight of the world had descended on my shoulders.

See, for the past four years, I’ve tried to minimize my exposure to the news to keep myself sane and my depression in check. What is happening politically in our country is distressing, and what is happening globally to our climate is devastating. Sometimes, it’s too much for my heart to hold.
But over the weekend, I broke this minimal-news pact. Knowing I needed to cast my ballot in my state’s presidential primary, I read one distressing political story after another distressing political story.
One of my coping techniques when I’m faced with overwhelm, as I was over the weekend, is mindfulness and meditation. But Monday morning, my mind was having none of it. Instead of sitting quietly and mindfully breathing in and out, panic over casting my ballot coursed through my body.
While delusion and not true, I felt the fate of the world rested on my vote.
To distract myself, I turned to Facebook. Yes, I know it’s a very poor coping mechanism, and often, it only leads to more despair. But on Monday morning, I found some very unexpected guidance. One of my friends shared a link to this thoughtful article by Margaret Renkl in The New York Times: One Tiny Beautiful Thing: When the big picture keeps getting darker, it helps to zoom in.
In the way of The Woo, Renkl’s description of the despair she was feeling read as if she was reading my mind:
Paying attention to what is happening in Washington is a form of self-torment so reality altering that it should be regulated as a Schedule IV drug. I pay attention because that’s what responsible people do, but I sometimes wonder how much longer I can continue to follow the national news and not descend into a kind of despair that might as well be called madness. Already there are days when I’m one click away from becoming Lear on the heath, raging into the storm. There are days when it feels like the apocalypse is already here.
“Yes,” I wanted to shout as I read this passage, “So much yes to all of this!”
But Renkl didn’t wallow in despair. She offered the advice that my racing mind and jittery heart needed to hear:
Instead of giving up something for Lent, I’m planning to make a heartfelt offering. In times like these, it makes more sense to seek out daily causes for praise than daily reminders of lack. So here is my resolution: to find as many ordinary miracles as a waterlogged winter can put forth, as many resurrections as an eerily early springtime will allow. Tiny beautiful things are bursting forth in the darkest places, in the smallest nooks and deepest cracks of the hidden world, and I am going to keep looking every single day until I find one.
As I finished her article, I noticed my heart rate slowing, my panic subsiding. Instead of feeling frozen by overwhelm, I now have an action item that fits perfectly in The Land of Woo. I am dedicating myself to finding and acknowledging the ordinary miracles I experience every day — like the miracle of Renkl’s article landing in my Facebook feed at the exact moment I needed it.








