The Winter of Our Hypernormalization

I read an article recently which described the term ‘hypernormalization’ as the feeling that everything around us is not right somehow, but we keep going through our daily routines as if all is right with the world.

In other words: we instinctively know we’re in a hand basket heading to Hell, but instead of figuring out a way to either brake our descent or get out of the basket, we carry on by ignoring the increasing heat and cramped accommodations. 

Though we may not be directly affected by natural or man-made disasters, we are inundated by them via our media of choice to the point where what, at one time, is seen as horrific, such as the California fires, is now a media moment, soon to be forgotten when the next headline vies for our attention. Meanwhile, little if anything is done to address the overriding situations and underlying causes because, well, shit happens, and we can expect shit to continue to happen. So, unless there’s a fire in our backyards, or a blizzard-dumped snow pile in our driveways, or cold-busted pipes in our basements, we  glance up from our phones and computers long enough to shake our heads in recognition of what others are dealing with, then doom-scroll to the next disastrous headline.

And we wonder why we feel discordant, out of sorts, deep in our feels while the cause of our blues seems to have escaped us. 

Hypernormalization.

Reading the news is like reading a script for an upcoming disaster movie. (Except Hollywood can’t produce it because it got toasted too!) Watching the news can be a recipe for engendering suicidal thoughts. People who believe such things see these catastrophes as signs declaring that, “The End is Nigh!!”

Well, maybe.

Or maybe it’s Mother Nature letting us know who really is in charge. Or maybe all of this has happened before, but the toll on human lives and our endeavors were much less when there were fewer of us. And, of course, all of it is sensationalized to the extreme by whatever media you choose so that a bad situation appears to be far worse than it is and right around the corner.

Don’t get me wrong, the Cali-fires, wayward blizzards, and hurricanes, and rollercoaster temperatures are all tragic and newsworthy, but the populace not directly affected by them are badgered by them in excruciating detail. It’s as if the media wants us to believe that, for instance, the fires in L.A. are so much more tragic because a favorite movie star’s home burned to the ground.

Yes, I know that we need to know what’s going on and where, but there is such a thing as information overload, and this winter, I think many of us who are not directly affected by a disaster are suffering from it. And thanks to our innate ability to get used to just about anything, our sensitivity to disasters, in general, has diminished. And with that diminished sensitivity, we tend to accept it while believing there’s little to be done to fix the problems we face, and we move on.

A friend of mine recently asked me to talk her off a virtual cliff as the news she’d been watching was so overwhelming that she felt lost and anxious. ( Actually, it wasn’t just the weather catastrophes that had her on edge, but I won’t go there, and these are my words, not hers.) To my mind, this is a normal human response. We should be concerned about the disastrous events in our world, and yes, we can and will be overwhelmed by them. 

I responded by trying to make light of it, stating that I was following the ostrich’s approach to a bad situation by burying my head in virtual sand. I refused to consume the news in any form for a day or two and advised her to do the same, and to seek out anything and anyone that could put a more positive spin on the world. 

(BTW: Ostriches don’t actually hide their heads in the sand when faced with danger. A full-grown ostrich can run away from danger at speeds of up to 70km/h (about 43 mph) and can defend themselves with large claw-like talons and powerful legs.

I saw a group of wild ostriches run up a mountainside while I was in Namibia, and I was left in awe at how fast the group ascended, even the little ones. I was also left wondering: since ostriches are land-bound birds, are a group of them called a flock or a herd?

I wasn’t trying to make little of her distress or appear flippant in light of her anxiety, but there was actually some truth in what I offered her. Often, when I’m feeling wired or merely out of sorts, I will find something that will cheer me up or at least divert my attention from the current calamity. For instance, I will watch Looney Tunes and Popeye cartoons. I also dabble in video production, writing, and thinking about my next major move.

These distractions seldom fail to get my mind off the negatives, at least for a moment, and often that’s all I need to do an emotional level set. I can then focus on what, if anything, I can do about the problem at hand.

(You can find my latest video releases here: https://www.youtube.com/@vernseward5323)

No, I’m not suggesting that those folks in the midst of a disaster can find solace in watching Roadrunner outsmart Wiley Coyote or to wait for Popeye to down a can of spinach to open a can of whip-ass on Brutus. What I am saying is that those of us for whom the minute-by-minute stream of wreck, ruin, and heartbreak is affecting our well-being or numbing us to the point where we don’t feel the way we should about the ruinations of others, can and should give ourselves a break and find something more positive for our brains to ingest, at least for a little while. Hit the reset button on our feelings so that we can focus on solutions.

Otherwise, we’ll just keep dappling away the sweat caused by the increasing heat while marveling at how well the hand basket we’re in can handle the weight of the crowd.

(A group of ostriches is called a herd.)

Stay tuned.

Vern

Fireflies

Back when I was a kid, growing up in the heart of Baltimore, there were fireflies.

Though they no longer herald summer evenings with flashes of green and gold in the gardens and backyards of west Baltimore, they had continued to exist right at the edge of my memory, fading like all memories do as we age. But I can still recall how seeing fireflies made me feel. Back then, to my young mind, they were the personification of magic. Their tiny cold flashes proved to me that mystery and wonder were real, that just beyond my very human eyes was a world where fantastic creatures lived. A world where unicorns and fairies might yet be real, and if they could be real, so could magic. How, my young mind would ask, could a creature make its body glow at will, turning the light on and off as if to signal each other that all was right in the world, if not by magic? 

I’ve grown and have leaned a lot since then. I know that the light fireflies produce is the product of a chemical reaction, that they use the light to attract a mate, and that there are other creatures that use a similar light producing method, called bioluminescence, to warn off predators or to catch a meal. While that is all very fascinating, the explanation only proved that there isn’t any magic in the world. Not really. And while there is still much to evoke wonder, the loss of magic makes the world a bit less wonderful, even to my adult mind. 

I’ve traveled a lot and have seen some wonderful things, but I didn’t realize how much I had missed that sense of mystery I experienced when I was a child until recently.

If you’ve been following my blog you’ll know that I’ve recently took a giant leap and moved from my home of 30+ years in central Florida to establish a new life in South Carolina. I talk about the whys in my previous posts, but the change has, thus far, been moving along smoothly. Over the course of the next several months I will complete my transition and situate myself in a completely new, yet somehow familiar environment. I have my very good friends, Brian and Francis, to thank for making the move far easier than it could have been. They’ve given me a place to stay while I wrangle with the logistics of the move, and I can’t thank them enough.

It was while I was staying with Brian and Francis that I rediscovered that sense of mystery and magic.

Brian and Francis’ home is in a quasi-rural area and the property is surrounded by trees and other flora and fauna natural to the area. I was sitting on their porch one evening, enjoying the cool breezes and evening bird calls when I thought I saw a flash of light a wooded area just beyond their front lawn. As I focused my attention to the area I saw another flash that was low to the ground. The light lingered for a bit, then faded as it drifted higher. Another light flashed, then another. Pretty soon the area was dotted with strobing green lights as fireflies rose from the ground to find a mate.

In that moment I was like a kid feeling the wonder of magic again. I had to walk out there and be surrounded by them. Even the thought of that experience still makes me smile. 

Watch carefully. Fireflies!

One of the reasons for me moving to western South Carolina is that I wanted to return to a familiar environment, a place that’s a lot like what I knew as a kid. A place where there are four distinct seasons, where proper oaks, maples and walnut trees still hold sway over the landscape. A place where one can still find deep green meadows, rolling hills and babbling brooks. 

A place, unbeknownst to me until now, where one can still find fireflies. A place where magic might yet still exist.

Stay tune

Vern