On some days this beautiful planet is so full of hatred and hardship that I feel guilty writing about such trivial things as “work.”
It sure is fun to blog about freelancing, marketing, and microphone technique, but I have to ask: “To what avail?”
Does it lead to a deeper understanding of the human psyche?
Does it tell us why young, radicalized men stuff their luggage with glass and nails, before they blow themselves and innocent others to bits and pieces?
Does it explain why so many people still believe that violence is the only way forward to further a cause?
As a blogger, shouldn’t I be writing about those issues, instead of talking about home studios, auditions, and online casting companies?
Whenever I ask myself these questions, I have to remind myself of where I came from.
Before leaving the Netherlands, I worked as one of those stone-faced newscasters informing the world of yet another tragedy. On air, I asked countless experts about the roots of evil, and I grilled politicians about their ideas on how to fix a broken world.
Day after day I reported on endless suffering and strife, and I was part of the sensationalist “if it doesn’t bleed, it doesn’t lead” gang, that determines what is newsworthy and what isn’t. On sunnier days I would be searching for that snippet of positive news we could end our program with, to remind the listeners that not all people are perverts, rapists, or suicidal religious radicals.
Don’t get me wrong: I loved the excitement and the adrenaline of the newsroom. It gave me a steady income, a certain status, and a sense of purpose. A democracy can only function when people are able to make smart decisions based on hard facts, and I was in the business of providing those facts. My radio station also gave me a unique opportunity to hold the feet of the famous to the fire.
Yet, one day, it all fell apart when I noticed myself caring less and less about the horror stories I was covering. In the beginning I would blame my lack of response on the need to “stay professional,” meaning detached from the raw emotions that are part and parcel of every human tragedy. I was supposed to stay as neutral as our network professed to be, and not get emotionally involved. But it came at a price.
I gradually developed a tendency to disassociate myself from all kinds of feelings. Positive and negative. That invisible screen I was using to shield myself from sadness in the newsroom, had become like a second skin. It protected me, and it numbed me at the same time.
Over time, I came to a frightening realization:
I had lost one of the very few things that separates humans from animals: the ability to empathize.
I’d seen this happen to veteran journalists who were trying to cope with the crazy demands of their job. Some became chain smokers, heavy drinkers, and lifelong cynics. Others filed for divorce. It was not a road I wanted to travel.
One day, after covering yet another disaster, I just knew I had reached my limit. Years of reporting had done nothing to change the world. If anything, the world had gotten worse. All I wanted was to get out of broadcasting, and do something useful with my life. Something exhilarating. Something inspiring. Something uplifting.
When I finally left the poisonous bubble that was the newsroom, it took me a while to adjust to a new reality. A reality that wasn’t nearly as violent as I had thought it would be. Slowly but surely I discovered a world filled with kindness and good people. It was as if someone had opened the dark blinds that had been filtering the light from the windows for such a long time.
I came to realize that the news I had covered for all those years focused on the exceptions; on the grotesque and the extraordinary. The thousands of planes that land safely every day will never be on CNN. It’s the plane that crashes that ends up making headlines. And if you add all those headlines up, it’s easy to get the impression that this world is rotten to the core. But it’s a deliberate distortion of reality, contrived to kick up the ratings.
Reality is so much better and less sensational than the networks want you to believe. For most of us it is reassuringly unspectacular and ordinary. It revolves around friends, family…. and work. Ultimately, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to blog about work, even when evil forces are trying to fill this world with fear.
The question remains: how do we respond to those who want to scare us by causing panic, pain, and suffering?
How do we deal with the fact that -to quote Harold Kushner- bad stuff happens to good people?
All of us have to come to terms with this in our own time and in our own way. Life and death are mysterious teachers.
Let me leave you with what I think.
The only way we can learn to live with darkness, is to focus on the light, and to become a reflection of that light.
Whether we realize it or not, all of us were born with the ability to shine.
Once we start taking that to heart, perhaps we can begin making this place a better world.
In Paris. In Ankara. In Istanbul. In Brussels.
Paul Strikwerda ©nethervoice
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