Starfish

This is a post in two parts.

From 3/21/11:

I find myself unspeakably angry about nuclear proliferation and radiation these days. Earthquakes and tsunamis are horrific and sad, but there is something so much more devastating to me about the nuclear meltdown.

An earthquake is out of our hands. Nothing you can do to stop those plates from banging together.

A tsunami is out of our hands. Nothing you can do to stop sea water from displacing after an earthquake.

But nuclear power plants? Built on the Ring of Fire? Built on these faults where we know earthquakes will happen? Built anywhere? I feel like shaking my fist at all of the heads of state and screaming "You did this! You!"

We did this. I did this. I certainly haven't done my part.

I may be something of a masochist because as my anger builds over the radiation leaking into the water and spinach and the cows, I can't stop myself from reading again about the A-bomb and the Chernobyl disaster. I remember reading this stuff in high school and I felt the injustice so profoundly back then. Turns out I still do.

But I also feel inept. I feel like there is nothing I can possibly do that would actually contribute to disarmament or to making sure no more nuclear energy plants are built? It seems totally insurmountable. I mean, how do you get rid of these chemicals? What does disarmament even mean? It's not like you can just put them in the trash or recycling. What have we done?

I was going to link up to some slide shows and pictures of nuclear aftermath. The burns and the keloids; the birth defects and the blood; the crumbled buildings and dead trees. But you know what it looks like. And you can find those images easily. I don't need to put them here.

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Then I stopped writing and wanted to think some more about how to finish my thoughts.

From 3/23/11:

Then I had dinner with Addie last night.

We were talking about something deep, but not Japan, or even Libya. And she told a story that someone had shared with her.

There was a man standing on the seashore and a large wave came in and washed thousands of starfish onto the beach. They were everywhere. The man started throwing the starfish one by one back into the sea. Another man approached and said, "Why are you bothering? There are thousands of starfish and it will never make a difference." The man picked up another starfish and and threw it into the sea and said "It makes a difference to that one."

I guess that's the point, isn't it? If I think about the tragedy in the world on a grand scale, it's inevitable that I'll find the problems insurmountable. I can't fix the meltdown or undo atomic energy.

So I could sit around and feel badly about that or I could throw a starfish in the ocean.

I can treat my clients with dignity and respect, understanding that they might walk in to my office feeling angry and helpless and disenfranchised. And that just maybe I can make things better for that person.

I can be patient and loving to Johan. I can give him hugs and model kindness. I can make him feel safe in our home and at his school and in the world. I can teach him values of peace (and disarmament!)

And while those things won't save the world from natural disaster or nuclear meltdowns, they certainly will matter to the starfish I can get back into the sea.