We're All Hanging By a Thread Right Now—and That's Good News

Photo by Joshua Anand on Unsplash

I’m OK.

That’s how I respond when people ask how I’m doing.

But 'OK' is a lie I’ve grown accustomed to telling.

I’m not OK.

I’m a couple hundred miles from OK, actually.

The truth is, on many days, I feel like I’m hanging by the thinnest of threads, barely clinging to sanity, terrifyingly close to slipping into the abyss.

On most mornings, I wake after having navigated a litany of stress dreams and abject nightmares that remind me that sleep is not a rescue from the terrors but a time for my subconscious to deal with all the shit I my waking wind isn’t willing to. I usually feel perfectly fine for a few seconds until I remember the current condition of my home country, and the knots quickly form in my stomach, and I seriously consider going back to sleep.

I’m under no illusions that the existential threats we’re facing have left me unaffected. I’m more irritable than I’d like to be, more impatient with myself and others than I should be, and easily discouraged when bad news breaks.

I like to think I’m not alone, though; that my misery is in very good company, that most of us, if we’re honest, also feel like we’re just hanging by a thread.

But here’s the beautiful part, friend: life is all about the threads.

It’s about those tiny, simple, but mysteriously sturdy joys that tether us to this place and other people: the ones that we don’t seek out or earn, the ones we’re quick to overlook when adversity shows up, the ones that comprise very reason we get up and step into demoralizing days we’d just as soon opt out of.

Our threads keep us here; they fortify and sustain us.

I began to think about the last few days and remembered all the threads:

The sound of my daughter in the next room, brilliantly nailing the drum track to her favorite Queen song.

The unexpected laughter that erupted between my wife and me in the kitchen, the source of which I can’t remember, but still feel.

The radiant face of the young Mexican-American girl who high-fived me as her parents drove past the No Kings Day protest, their flags waving, their horn blaring.

The absolutely glorious Chicken Alfredo I conjured up yesterday, seemingly out of the ether and a few leftovers.

The joyfully cathartic thump of Sly and the Family Stone’s Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin) blasting through my car speakers.

The email I received from a stranger, telling me that my words had altered her story for the better.

The late afternoon breeze that mercifully cut through the stifling North Carolina June heat while I was walking.

And as I began to inventory these minute, unassuming, barely registering at the time moments, it all made sense: why I get up in mornings like these, why I haven’t stopped fighting, and why I still am OK in the not OK-ness.

And here’s the greatest truth of all of it: you and I get to be that thread for others. Our presence can serve as someone else’s tether to life, their unexpected ordinary miracle.

Sometimes, through nothing but our kind and compassionate presence, we get to be a necessary reminder to another human being that good people still inhabit this place, and this might be just enough for them to keep going.

Today, it might be helpful for you to rewind through the past few days and remind yourself of just how much simple beauty has helped you get here and to let gratitude have that real estate inside your head for a while instead of the despair.

Remember that yes, most people are hanging by the thinnest of threads; and that by showing up today in a day you might have preferred not to and giving whatever it is you’re capable of giving, you may be that thread.

What are the small, simple threads that have brought you comfort, given you joy, or helped you stay here and stay in the fight? Let me know in the comments.