This is my symphony

I’ve been reading Jacqueline Winspear’s Maisie Dobbs mysteries for a dozen years, maybe longer. That’s not quite one book a year, which doesn’t make sense since I could swear I read a couple a year. But I’ll readily admit numbers aren’t my strong suite, so whatever the case, I’ve only two more titles until the series is complete, and I’ll miss Maisie’s company because she’s become nothing if not a good friend.

I went straight through The American Agent in about twenty-four hours because, to be honest, there’s little work involved reading Maisie. The pages almost turn themselves. I have noticed how much stronger she is in the last few novels. And resilient. I guess a couple World Wars, a broken heart, missed love, and more death than any one person should ever deal with will do that to a girl. Where in the first twelve novels Maisie is often haunted by her experiences, she now makes peace with challenges that come her way. Maisie turns inward to uncover what matters.

In the past several years I’ve come to much the same place as Maisie. The life I once expected to be straight and narrow–where I thought I understood my place–now resembles a winding path that moves forward only to turn back on itself time and time again. And in spite of (or because of) that I’m beginning to make my own sort of peace with the world around me. When life around you is in turmoil, turning inward might be the best course of action.

Which can be difficult in the U.S. today where life is beginning to resemble a sequel to a Margaret Atwood novel. In only six weeks time many of us worry that autonomy and self-determination will soon be a thing of the past. So how to deal with that uncertainty? Some folks fall into depression. Or anger. Some fear the end of democracy is closer than we realize. Others fight for change. Me? Like Maisie I am turning inward, away from the turmoil and toward what matters.

Like many others I have become a kind of indentured servant to the new billionaire class of political influencers. Like I’m working for them. I buy Amazon–Prime and Subscribe and Save. My likes and clicks create revenue on Facebook. I’ve bought into the illusion that these platforms are making my life easier or more convenient, but in reality its the uber-wealthy owners who benefit the most. So I deactivated my Facebook account and my Instagram privacy is about as tight as it can get. I suspended Amazon Prime. (See how hard it’s become to pull the plug completely? But baby steps are better than inertia.) For Lent I’ll take it one step further and fast from consumption. Obviously I’ll need food, gas, and essentials, but other than that it will be forty days of no extra consumption. I might occasionally allow myself a coffee date, but only at local small businesses. If I need to go to a big box store, it will be one that hasn’t given into pressure to cancel DEI initiatives, like Costco. I also unsubscribed to the Washington Post. This one killed me because the writing is so good and the content is reliably left of center. But Bezos did his whole free market censorship thing and I put my proverbial foot down.

Will any of this make a difference? Nope. Not to the billionaires or their bottom line. But it will for me, for my own peace-of-mind. Already I feel like I stand a little straighter. This is within my circle of control. No. way. will I give up my inner peace to political and social chaos. (Although I do wonder what would happen if the 75 million people who voted for Harris reduced their consumption of goods and media. I’ve got a sneaking suspicion the billionaires would sit up and take notice.)  

I started this post fan-girling on Maisie Dobbs. And that novel I just finished? It was about an American agent working behind the scenes at the American Embassy in London during the blitz in 1941. Ambassador Joseph Kennedy was working hard on behalf of America First (a antisemitic and pro fascist organization) to keep the truth about the threat of Nazi aggression from the American people. He was also using his official position to enrich himself. Sounds as though history repeats itself, doesn’t it?

My son, a reader himself, said it best: “Dynasties rise and fall; civilizations come and go. We might be living through that right now.” But we all know that Chapter Five of a book is not the end. So while there might be moments of fear and confusion, there is also the hope of a happy ending–although it might come after my character has met her end.

Until then I’ll try to keep my head and heart in the right place. My best life will be quieter without the distraction of social media and scrolling, but at least I’m calling the shots, not mindlessly following some 21st century cultural norm. I won’t bury my head in the sand, but I will focus more deliberately on what matters.

And what matters, Dear Reader? Butterflies in the conservatory. Barbie dolls. Crafting. Celebrations. Silly six-year-olds. Fur babies.