How to survive an all-out crazy world

Seeking irrational hope through love and togetherness

Young love. Do you, like me find it powerful, beautiful, poignant?

Closing in on 50, I am still spellbound by how love felt like in my youth. When I see young people navigate the complexities of romance, I am their biggest cheerleader, rooting for them to experience the heady cocktail of belongingness and sexual chemistry. I want everyone to feel this because I know I would not have been the same person without it.

It doesn’t matter whether it translates to the relatively mundane business of life - marriage, kids, investments, that whole shebang - or whether it fizzles out quickly. No matter what the outcome, young love is important to experience in and of itself.

Young love stands on its own as a powerful coming-of-age experience of connection-seeking, risk-taking and choice-making. The pursuit and experience of love by half-formed young humans is an act of total spontaneity and madness before the cynicism of adulthood kicks in.

Photo by Alexander Mass: https://www.pexels.com/photo/romantic-couple-holding-hands-outdoors-31313012/

Love may offer much more stability when we are more mature, but young love is the equivalent of jumping into the abyss with complete trust and hope; when it is returned, even if very briefly, we learn that being irrationally hopeful can bring joyous rewards.

I find myself thinking about the irrationality of hope a lot nowadays, when every news headline seems to remind us of the complete lunacy of the times we live in. When I feel frustrated about how powerful leaders are undoing the very tenets of what I consider being human - empathy, inclusion and equality - my mind returns to those moments when I was 16 and believed that my gawky, ultra-chauvinistic, control-freak teen boyfriend could metamorphose into a sensible, supportive partner.

His flaws did not matter then because I had given into the magic of V’s amazing voice and large heart. His soulful rendering of so many classics - think Gulzar’s romantic lyrics and RD Burman’s melodies - and the innocence reflected in his eyes remain deeply imprinted in my memory. At 16, it did not matter that we had wildly different family backgrounds and values. We wove our shared love for music into a warm, safe, romantic cocoon that shut the world out, including well-meaning friends who tried to warn us of our incompatibility!

However irrational our circumstances, the need to believe it will all work out was far more powerful than good old common sense. And that kind of optimism had its use, tiding me over the roller coaster high school years with laughs, musics, squabbles, adventures. And teaching me that life is a mixed bag of the good and bag; the important thing is to keep moving!

Relationships came and went in those early years. Perhaps we were lucky social media and mobile phones did not exist. Because we only had to deal with the reactions of people we actually knew, and not really worry so much about going viral and being shamed en masse, the irrationality of our lives could not spiral out of control. We could contain the damage. We could ignore the sniggerers and the naysayers. Unlike the intrusive, urgent penetration of photos and videos and voice notes into our lives via our phones, back then, the pesky folks had no entry into our private zone. Back home (or at a friend’s or at a street corner), in our safe cocoons, we could vent, recuperate, ruminate and recover, without being repeatedly and constantly drawn into the whirlwind of gossip and drama.

Today, no longer a teenager, but a perimenopausal woman in the middle of a different kind of emotional storm, I find myself looking for safe and nurturing cocoons, even if they are temporary, because I need them to survive this crazy world. I no longer care as much about what people think, but the unfairness of the world gets under my skin and makes me sad mad.

No matter how hard we try to pretend things are hunky dory, the fact is that huge ideological, territorial and identity conflicts are blowing up our world and none of us - and certainly not our children - can escape unscathed. The uncertainty of it all, and that the only thing that seems certain is grief, pain and disappointment, feels overwhelming, even dire. Closing in on 50, I should have the power to shift this, somehow! But I don’t…and how do I deal with that?

My intention in writing this is not to suck you all down into the vortex with me, but to stand on your shoulders as I look for a way out. By you, I mean my readers, my friends and anybody with whom I share a sense of community. Building a “we” is paramount in my life. The “we” is my safe cocoon. I am lucky to have friends who listen to me patiently and family that accepts me as I am, and I vow to value these relationships more.

This past week, as I attended events related to housing inclusion and sustainable livelihoods, both areas of work that have given my career as an urban researcher and practitioner the most meaning, I was reminded of the importance of co-travellers on various causes with whom I can share my worries and hopes for our society. We may meet often or fleetingly, but the conversations and emotions we share give us hope - even if irrational - in the face of uncertainty and chaos. Hang tight, friends…as the wisest folks in my life have reminded me often. This, too, shall pass!