Some might call it an addiction. I’m a daily user and I can get it 24/7: News.
Updates roll in round the clock. Public radio posts the number of killed innocents in Ukraine. The New York Times reports on 30 million people in refugee camps. Should I miss anything, there’s always a podcast to educate me on the Afghan girls banned from education after 6th grade.
So much news. So much bad.
With each sad story a tiny bit of energy drifts out of me. Soon it’s the sort of malaise one feels from excessive Instagram scrolling seeing seemingly everyone sipping espresso in Sorrento. It’s subtle, but the downward energetic shift is undeniable.
It’s ironic that I allow my attention to travel around the world to take in troubles. Born into a family of eight children, my family is large. Living in the community I grew up in, my friend circle is even larger. I can hear news of a cancer diagnosis or a struggling child on the regular.
It’s time I admit I’m not traveling to give aid in Afghanistan anytime soon, but that my cousin who’s on the brink of entering hospice could probably use my support. If I want more energy for doing something about the bad news I hear, I can’t allow my vitality to seep out of me nonstop.