It's OK if You're Not Ok. No One Who's Paying Attention Right Now, is.

Photo by Tiago Bandeira on Unsplash

“How are you?” I asked my dear friend Julie, as she fell down into her chair across from me with a loud exhale.

“I’m OK.” she replied almost immediately, with a squinting forced smile that I long ago learned meant she wasn’t being completely truthful.

“Let’s try this again,” I said, slowing down and looking directly at her. “Really… how are you?”

Tears quickly pooled in her eyes and her voice quivered slightly as she shook her head and squeaked out, “I’m not OK.”

“Whew, thank God!” I shot back. “I didn’t want to be the only one!”

No one is OK right now.

At least, no one with working empathy and a knowledge of History who’s paying attention.

It is an emotional impossibility to be living in days like one’s we’re in here and to be fully unaffected. Honestly, that would be a massive red flag that something isn’t working right internally.

We all face existential crises differently.

Some of us approach them intellectually, moving into practical and pragmatic solutions to address the data in front of us.
Others of us lean into our spiritual or moral convictions, looking for the greater story playing out and trying to figure out how we can embody our beliefs in times that test them.
Those of us who are students of History, try and filter circumstances in the light of what has played out before in an effort to contextualize them.
Still others of us become active caregivers, expressing compassion toward people around us in an effort to minimize the collective pain in our midst.

But no matter how we choose to respond to these unthinkable, heartbreaking, destabilizing days, none of us are immune from the internal shit-kicking they bring—none of us.

So, if your insides are torn up or you feel a bit lost or you have a constant nagging sense of dread hovering in the periphery, welcome to flawed and failing humanity friend, we’re glad you’re here!

Tragedy is an equalizer.

It levels the ground in ways that few other things can. When the systems fail and the safeguards fall away and the crushing flood of horrible hits—even the normal buffers of competency, privilege, financial resources, intellectual prowess, or steady temperament prove insufficient.

In other words, no decent human being with any understanding of the times in which we find ourselves are OK, and if they say they are they’re probably lying to you, to themselves, or to both of you.

There is nothing heroic or strong or virtuous about pretending you’re more capable than you are right now. In fact, all that does is make other people feel more screwed up and clueless than they already do.

There’s a conspiracy of pretending that many of us engage in because we’ve been conditioned to believe that exposing vulnerability or revealing despair are some kinds of character flaws or signs of weakness. Bullshit. It’s a dehumanization of ourselves to imply that we’re above being brought to our knees by despair and that doesn’t help anyone anyway.

In fact, right now, the best, most freeing, most helpful thing you can do right now is be honest: about your anger, your disbelief, your unbelief, your disappointments, doubts, and worries. Chances are the people around you have them all too, and they’re waiting for someone to give them permission to not be perfect.

That’s going to be one of the ways decent, empathetic, aware human beings are going to survive and overcome the days ahead of us: by leaning into our fragile humanity and not being ashamed to lead with it.

So, the next time someone asks you how you are, have the courage to tell them. Remind them that you’re not made of steel (and if you are, then these days are your Kryptonite). Let other people into your not-okayness.

And the next time some across from you who you know and love and care about tells you that they’re OK, make sure to slow down, look directly into their eyes and ask:

“Really… how are you?”