Cognitive dissonance
“Maybe human beings are not supposed to contain this level of cognitive dissonance.” It is a close friend who articulates it like this, but it resonates deeply.
Saturday, I had moved my work-station (consisting of a computer and headset) to the east river adjacent Brooklyn neighborhood, DUMBO. I wanted to watch the water as I dug into editing various pieces of work leftover from the previous week. But I had forgotten how busy DUMBO gets on the weekend: wedding shoots, all-day upscale brunching, the carousel, children climbing the boulders, jampacked with tourists wanting that iconic shot of the Manhattan bridge. And this Saturday, as it happened, also a march for peace with several loud police helicopters hovering close over Brooklyn bridge and the neighborhood in general.
So there I was, sitting cross-legged on a sunny warm wooden bench. People all around me, laughing, chatting in several languages, posing couples in full wedding-gear. On the bridge, chanting, masses of anxious bodies, demanding an end to violence. Above me, loud whirring. On the screen before me, descriptions of folk in other situations of violence, in other places in the world, with yet other impossible situations of abuse. And in the back of my head the constant feeling that it shouldn’t be this warm by the end of October in New York City.
At that moment, I felt grounded, as if I was standing in the eye of a storm and just watching it all whirl around me. But it keeps coming back to me as deeply disconnected and wrong.
“Maybe human beings are not supposed to contain this level of cognitive dissonance.” I believe that’s true. We can’t. I find myself drawn to simple stories these days. I retreat to my daily schedule of routines. I stop every hour to breathe deeply and return to my body. I hug my spouse often, hard, and for a long time. I sleep, I eat.
It is not resignation. It is also not truly presence. It is whatever acceptance would look like if it contained the inchoate germination of change.