How do you take action when everything seems hopeless?
Feeling despair while searching for hope
This newsletter was supposed to be about salary transparency, as today marks one year since New York City started requiring companies to disclose salary ranges in job listings. But I just don’t have it in me to talk about whether you should feel comfortable discussing pay with colleagues and even friends. I’m just too sad.
The news of the last month has been relentless—and every day it seems worse. First the horror stories pouring out of Israel and Gaza. Posters featuring kidnapped Israelis paper the streets of New York City. Photos of Palestinian men holding dead children on the homepage of The New York Times. And then, the violence came closer to home, with 18 people killed last week in Maine, the whole state on lockdown as a manhunt ensued. Once again, our social media feeds seem to overflow with stats about the horrific gun violence that plagues our country. The massive hurricane that destroyed Acapulco, killing more than 100 people, has barely received any coverage—perhaps the news media were too busy watching the circus that was the Republicans choosing a new Speaker of the House.
And always in the back of my mind is concern for the thousands of migrants who continue to stream into New York City, looking for a place to stay and a job and a break after surviving a harrowing journey across half the world.
But the piece of news that finally sent me spiraling came Thursday night, when I learned a child was killed crossing a street in Brooklyn, walking to school with his mother. The child is the same age as my kid. When asked about the death and what he was going to do about pedestrian safety in NYC, Mayor Adams yelled, “I love New York!” and got into his car and drove away. There have been 132 people killed by motor vehicles so far in 2023, and not a day has gone by without someone injured by one, according to research from the website The Cost of Cars in New York City.
To say my heart breaks for all these people—in Israel and Palestine, in Maine, in Mexico, in New York City—feels beyond cliche. And also, I don’t think my heart can break because I’m pretty sure it has turned to stone. I feel so numb right now and hopeless. What are we supposed to do? We raise money for the families and march to demand action and canvas for politicians who make promises they don’t keep. And nothing ever changes. If anything, it feels like it just gets worse.
Saturday night, we attended a Halloween party hosted by friends who live around the corner. While our kids played happily and parents mingled and we all felt a little guilty for enjoying the unseasonably warm October night (add global warming to my list of worries), I sat for a long time with my friend—I’ll call her Sam—and talked about the state of the world. She’s Jewish, and she was telling me about her family friends who were able to leave Israel a couple of weeks ago, only to settle in Maine, where they found themselves under lockdown on Thursday following the mass shooting. It feels like there’s no escape from the violence.
Neither of us have explained to our kids what is happening on the other side of the world. Or for that matter, the shooting that took place three states away. “War sounds really weird when you start trying to explain it to your kids,” Sam told me, as we sat sipping beers.
“Can’t we just let our kids be kids?” I asked, which I know is another cliche and yet it seems to be the ultimate privilege these days: to be young enough that you don’t have to know how dangerous and unkind the world can be. Is it wrong that I want to maintain my child’s innocence as long as I can?
My parents raised me to see everyone as my equal, no matter their background. My dad, in particular, has never been intimidated by anyone. He could meet the President of the United States and be happy making small talk, and he’d be just as kind and engaged talking to a homeless man. I’m trying to instill the same confidence and kindness in my kid. “Everyone poops,” I like to remind him. “And no one’s poop smells like roses.” Also, we never understand what other people are going through, so it’s important to be kind to everyone.
Motherhood has made me even more aware of how similar we all are. Parents around the world basically want the same thing for their children: for them to be safe, healthy, fed, warm, loved. We’ll go to great lengths to secure these basic rights for our children. Unfortunately—especially in this country—we often do not have support systems to help the next generation thrive.
I’m pretty confident my kid will grow into a gentle and loving adult. My beautiful boy is an empath who wants nothing more than to make people laugh, play with his friends, and hug on his parents. But I worry all the time about the world he will inherit. I want to be a force for change, and yet I feel paralyzed. And I feel cynical. I’m very sad that I feel this way.
There was some news coverage last week about a new study in the Journal of Pediatrics that found the decline in children’s mental well-being can be tied to the decline in independent activity. This generation of kids doesn’t enjoy the same kind of unstructured, unsupervised play that we did. And while many of us feel nostalgic for the days when our parents let us roam the neighborhood, I don’t think any of us should be surprised that we’re raising our children this way. What other choice do we have?
I was 18 in the spring of 1999, when two teen boys killed 12 of their classmates and one teacher at Columbine High School in Colorado. I remember standing in a sandwich shop after school, watching the news. My friend Matt wore a trench coat similar to the two teen boys, and the media made a big deal of the so-called Trenchcoat Mafia. It was insane to me then—and it’s insane to me now—that anyone would blame a piece of clothing for such a tragedy and not recognize the real problem: guns.
This spring, it will be 25 years since Columbine, and according to The Washington Post “more than 357,000 children have experienced gun violence at school” since then. The only thing that has really changed since 1999 is now our children learn lockdown drills alongside fire drills. If you visit any elementary school in this country, you’ll see numbers on every window—that’s so police officers can easily identify classrooms that might be under siege without going into the building.
The same seemingly unending misery characterizes the ongoing conflict in Israel and Palestine. Thousands of people have died in decades of fighting. It’s a war so complicated I wouldn’t even begin to know how to summarize it. Generation after generation, adults pass the burden of hate and fear and ugliness onto their children who die for… what? I don’t know. Smarter men than me have tried to explain justify it.
And then there’s the number of traffic deaths in the U.S., which The New York Times reports have increased 77% between 2010 and 2021. New York City, which in theory should be a haven for pedestrians, with our world-class subway and bus system, is getting even more treacherous with the rise of ebikes. These scooters fly at high speeds down every street in the city, frequently going the wrong way, blowing through traffic lights, and screaming down sidewalks. All so someone can get their sushi delivered in a timely fashion. It’s so hard to be angry with these delivery men (they are almost always men) when you know they are not paid a living wage and are likely dealing with jerks everywhere they go. At the same time, I frequently find myself standing in the street, yelling and swearing in fear after they’ve nearly hit me or my kid.
How am I supposed to send my kid out unsupervised into this dangerous and heartless world, where so many people do not give a shit about his well-being? Yes, we should be worried about the mental health of our children, but those who encourage parents to simply loosen up a bit and trust that everything will be okay forget that we live in a very different time. We need to be gentle with this generation of parents who have watched school shootings become the norm, seen maternal mortality rates rise while women’s health rights are disappearing, navigated a global pandemic that shut down schools and saw politicians prioritize the economy over education. There’s no evidence to suggest this is a nation that cares about children, so why should we feel confident letting them leave the house without us?
I feel strongly about so many of these issues. I want to work to make changes to the laws so that families can cross a street without feeling terrified. I want to elect officials who will finally make meaningful changes to gun laws. I want to help the migrant families settling in NYC by the thousands. But signing petitions, donating money, and buying candy on subway platforms from every young woman with a darling baby strapped to her back doesn’t seem nearly enough.
Yet, a piece of me is afraid to do more. And I’m not entirely sure why. I write these silly newsletters every week about sofas and expensive cocktails, and yet when it comes to speaking up for the issues I really believe in, I feel like I’ve lost my voice. And even if I do speak up, I’m convinced no one will listen.
Enough of that. Nothing will change if all I do is have a pity party and cry about the state of the world. This week, I’m going to write to my city council rep to ask how we can get better school zone signage near my kid’s school. I’m going to attend the PTSO meeting and work to get other parents on board. I’m going to find out when the next community board meeting is taking place, so I can attend and ask them what they are doing to make our streets safer.
I’m also going to donate money to three nonprofits that mean a lot to me, and I’m going to ask Purse readers to pitch in if you can. Originally, I thought of setting up a fundraiser specifically for Everytown: For Gun Safety for my birthday this month. But I also want to add Transportation Alternatives, which works to make New York City safer for bikers and pedestrians, and Save the Children, a massive organization that helps children in need around the world. Whatever your politics, I hope we can all agree that it is imperative to protect children, who did not create these conflicts.
For every $1 that Purse readers donate, I’ll donate an additional $1, up to $200. Just send me a quick email with a screenshot of your donation receipt.
We can’t lose hope. We can’t stop fighting. We owe it to our children. And we owe it to ourselves.
Sending love and hopes of peace.
xx
Lindsey
Lindsay, you are awesome! I love how you managed to go from despair to ACTION (probably really the only antidote for despair/paralysis), and give us avenues for action ourselves. That’s hard work, and you’re showing us how to do it--inspiring us. Thank you!