A letter to the next generation
Anxiety about the future, while holding space for hope.
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How can I give you the world
when the earth is burning
and the fragile embers of hope
smolders from the weight of seventy six million votes?
—
Three weeks ago, on an unusually warm October morning, I found myself slipping into a downward spiral. Already pumped full of antibiotics and miserable from a chronic health flareup, it drove me to the dentist in search of drugs or an extraction of a nerve just to end the pain.
My dentist, however, turned to me and said, “Gums are a bit imflamed, but I see no infection around the tooth.”
The dull ache that radiated from my jaw to the entire left side of my face left me unconvinced.
“It’s likely from stress. Are you stressed?” Um, yes.
And then he lightly touched my shoulder and said, “Might I suggest you try something to relieve your anxiety like THC or medication?” Oh. Okay.
I left the office relieved, but also in disbelief that stress and anxiety could manifest that much physical pain, not having learned the lesson once before when exactly four years ago, I ended up incapacitated with a more serious condition that took months to recover.
My mother thinks I have a propensity to catastrophize things. She isn’t necessarily wrong, but when she reminds me of this particular talent that I seemingly possess, we often end in an argument. I reason that I’m actually not a pessimist, but a realist. I end up dismissing her characterization of my disposition because I will never match her resilience or her ability to fill up her reserves with endless wells of hope despite a lifetime of war, poverty, and abuse. She doesn’t understand how her two children ended up so unlike her, but we didn’t grow up needing to buoy ourselves with a survivor’s mentality just to live.
My late brother and I had somewhat difficult childhoods, but we benefitted from her protection and drive to give her children a better life and the immigrant dream—the American dream—of which my mother spectacularly achieved through sheer willpower.
As parents, we strive to break cycles and give our children a better future than the ones we inherit. My life has never been tested like my mother’s, but I gave my children a more stable household than the one I was raised in. That was mainly within my control. What I can’t control is the burden of inheriting a world that is careening toward an uncertain and perilous future.