Paper Newspaper

I ordered a subscription to the Sunday New York Times.

Tomorrow morning, an ink pressed paper bundled and rolled inside a plastic bag will lie on my doorstep. They emailed to say that they received my postcard and payment, and that I now have unlimited access to online news stories. I don't want unlimited access to online news stories. That's why I decided on a paper newspaper in the first place - for this national election and our current political climate has left me with a new addiction and it is the scrolling of news headlines on glowing screens. An act that subsequently spins stress around my heart like frayed, knotted twine wrapping a ripe mango, binding my soft ticker until it swells and throbs every vein (from my temples to my toes) making me mad, miserable and without hope (without even any hope of hope).

A little while back, I got so worked up about the president's regressive executive orders that I couldn't stop talking about it. My brother called to say 'hello' and my mouth became a fire hose of fury. I couldn't calm myself. My friend was here and we talked (or rather, spewed all the bile our eyes and minds had choked down that day), while our babies played on the floor. Then my husband came home. Then everyone left. My friends went home and my husband went to teach his evening class. My body felt stiff and my mouth tasted of metal. I had to relax. So after supper and before bath; before teeth brushing and before selecting a pile of bedtime books; I turned on music and my toddler and I danced. She stomped her bare feet and raised her hands and turned in circles, while I jumped and jutted my arms and shook my head and shoulders and hips. I grabbed her by the hands and moved us both to the quick drum beat. Then I picked her up and spun her around and around until we were both wide with smiles and glowing, our spirits yellow with bliss. It worked. I felt so much better. That's when I realized: I can't keep on clicking. Our president is turning our government into a reality show and I don't want to watch anymore. So I've decided to pay for the press he so often attacks, the press he fears.  

Internet news is like a river during a deep white winter melt. Some people can ride the rapids - in fact, they appear invigorated by them, bending into every unexpected turn and flying from every bump. But I can't seem to stay in the damn boat. I constantly get pulled into the cold water and before I know it, I am drowning. I am pinned between boulders, dragged down dams or washed up on rocky river beds. However for me, a paper newspaper is more like a puddle or pond. It can be surprisingly deep and frigid, but it is quiet and calm and shallow at the edges so that I can step into it with caution. It has advertisements, but they aren't blinking or speaking and there isn't a box that will suddenly appear in front of my glasses to block my view of the page. Above all, when I hold a paper newspaper in my hands, no one else knows (except, of course, me), which articles I choose to read, the ones I remember, the pieces I cut out with scissors, the stories I skim and the columns I ignore.

During these times, it is important that we remain informed and vocal, but we'll help no one if we don't first help ourselves. Stress will squeeze us all dead if we let it. So find your way of coping. I'm starting with a paper newspaper... and daily dance parties with my daughter.