The Guilt of No Reaction

I will openly confess, I am VERY bad at reading the news. Ask my best friend, I am usually quite uninformed about current events and my efforts to change this usually fizzle out as soon as I find a new book. I've found myself reading the news more while I travel because people I meet are curious about my thoughts as an American, and ignore my protests that I don't know enough to have an opinion.

It's very disconcerting to read the news right now. I don't know how to reconcile what I hear with where I am. How am I supposed to feel when I read about Paris and send the message to a friend, "I'm so glad you're ok", and then look up and out the window of the train at the beautiful mountains and the first snow I've seen all fall?

This isn't the first time I've struggled with what I would call "guilt of no reaction."

Earlier this fall I got the news that my aunt had passed away. I read the message, and then I walked outside and enjoyed the sunny day in Edinburgh. I felt guilty, confused. Even if the news wasn't unexpected, shouldn't I be more upset? But I didn't know anyone here. And people were excited. And the sun was shining. The news didn't fit into my life here, and I didn't know how to react. I recognized this feeling; it was the same at Middlebury. Bad news didn't have a visible place on campus, unless it was stress. My senior year a friend from home passed away, and I remember sitting down in the dining hall a few minutes after getting the news, "hey, Katie, are you ok?" "...I guess so?"

I was up in Shetland on 9/11 this year. I spent all day wandering around, discussing knitting patterns and reading my book, and listening to a fiddler in the hostel. And eventually I realized that no one I was talking to was going to mention it. But I had that moment when I remembered, very vividly, getting the news on the school bus as a kid. Maybe it was a good way to remember, though, to be welcomed warmly into a new community in a new country.

A few weeks later I was on a bus across the island. The driver was playing the news and I stared out the window. I heard the words "shooting" and "Oregon" and moved up to the front row. The driver looked at me, shook his head, and remarked on the tragedies resulting from gun access in the U.S.. "It's so sad," I answered, trying to think whether my friends in that area had all graduated already. "It's in their constitution" he informed me. I blinked. He didn't realize I was American. Eventually, I got off the bus and put my thoughts away and walked on the beach and went to a class on lace knitting.

People keep complimenting me by saying that I don't act American. Should I be flattered or offended?

But I think the response to that right now will be, but Katie, you're being close-minded and elitist. Everything you've mentioned above involves white people. You haven't mentioned the recent tragedies in countries except France. I don't know enough. Except for "It's so sad. It's so scary" I have trouble putting words to my feelings in response to these events.

I keep reading the news. I keep shuddering. And then I put down my phone or I leave the wifi and I look around. And I don't know how to react. And I feel guilty about that. And I go for a walk, and take pictures of the coast, and laugh when the sun sets at 3:30, and read science fiction, and knit. And I'm happy. And life is easy. And I still feel a little guilty.

But in the middle of a conversation with some Norwegian students about the flaws in education systems, I realize: I can feel guilty, and I probably will, but maybe my non-reactions are a good thing too. If it's hard to react because the news feels so far away, so unrelated to life here, then that fear isn't everywhere yet. I'm making friends with different backgrounds than me, and I'm changing my thoughts based on their experiences. I'm learning about folk crafts from people who are kind enough to help me just because they want to share their interests.

I'm spending day after day in beautiful places, learning from generous people.

Maybe that is a lesson I should be learning right now.

I didn't turn my profile picture to the French flag this week. Every time Facebook prompted me, I ignored it because it felt meaningless to me. So far away. How does it show my support to click a button on a social website when I can't even articulate my feelings to myself? Instead, I made friends with a few strangers and laughed with them as we discussed education and travel and art. And yes, they complimented me on being un-American.

Maybe I'm ignorant. Maybe I'm selfish. But maybe, maybe, I found a peaceful reaction. As the world reels in shock and fear, as hate and condemnation are thrown around, I added one link of good feelings between two people from different places. I gained a little bit of faith in the kindness of strangers. I left a little love in a landscape far from where I grew up.

And while I was finishing writing this, sitting in a coffee shop window, a boy tapped on the window to get my attention. I looked up, he tapped his wrist where a watch would be, and I held up my phone to show him the time. He blew me a kiss and walked away. And I laughed.

It's a tiny thing, a few seconds of connection, but it made me smile for the first time since I opened BBC when I sat down here. Back when my coffee was still warm. The fear isn't just in my phone. The world isn't as carefree as that boy. I still don't know how to react. But I don't feel guilty about that smile.