Dear James: I See Every Tiny Problem as a Social Injustice

Editor’s Note: Every Tuesday, James Parker tackles a reader’s existential worry. He wants to hear about what’s ailing, torturing, or nagging you. Submit your lifelong or in-the-moment problems to [email protected].

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Dear James,

A lifelong activist, I’ve trained my brain to scan for huge systemic problems. It’s a habit I can’t shake, even as I approach 40. I’ve developed insomnia and an internal dialogue of sheer rage.

The problem is that every little tiff, conflict, or blip in the road of my life has to be turned into something larger than my control: a grave social injustice.

Having difficulty controlling my sweets overeating? “THIS! is a corruption of the food industry! The junk-food industrial complex should be tried and charged! WHERE is the government regulation we need for these monsters!”

Father-in-law suggests that I or his wife stop “fussing” over my baby’s blanket before a walk? “THIS! is a problem of deep-seated misogyny that has infected my husband and all his brothers’ perception of women, making all our lives deeply unfair and distressing!”

Feminist boss says something critical about my appearance? “THIS! is an abuse of power! It’s deeply ideological and unprofessional, and she should be taken down instantly!”

The list goes on and on. No challenge I ever face is just that: a conflict between me and another individual. (Which, arguably, would be easier to tackle.)

Rather, it has to be massive and insurmountable, a deep-rooted problem that demands the transformation of the entire structure of the West.

I’m utterly, utterly exhausted of my own mind.

Dear Reader,

First of all, you are completely correct. As above, so below: The great imbalances wobble us in our tiniest moments. Yes, the junk-food barons are trying to kill you; yes, your former boss was an avatar of late-modern despotism; and yes, the patriarchy must be burned to the ground before you can have a decent conversation about baby blankets with your father-in-law.

BUT. But, but. How fatiguing it is, how draining, to hold all this in your consciousness—to find yourself zooming out continually and automatically from the micro to the macro and back again. The sleeplessness, the ranting internal dialogue (I misread that at first, thought you were having an infernal dialogue)—this is all telling you that it’s too much, unsustainable, not good for you. You know this already.

Here’s my advice: Don’t stop trying to fix the world. Attack and reattack the big problem. But reclaim, for yourself, the particular. Reclaim the idiosyncratic. Reclaim what is unique and irreducible in these encounters—what cannot be accounted for by the systemic analysis. Your father-in-law, for example. He’s not just a hopeless sexist: He’s a man with his own history, his own difficulty, his own glory, and—most important—he has your partner’s DNA wound around his core. He’s your baby’s grandfather, elected by destiny. Can you find a way to get in touch with that? And those sweets you can’t stop eating: which sweets? And why do you like them? Is it the packaging, the shape, the texture? Can you permit yourself a moment of admiration for the marketing geniuses who have induced you, artistically manipulated you, to consume this stuff?

Maybe not. But you see where I’m going. “I am myself and my circumstances,” said José Ortega y Gasset. I am defined by what is around me, by what comes down on me—but also by my authentic and unrepeatable me-ness. Zero in, if you can, on the momentary and the mysterious. There’s medicine for you there. And good luck with the infernal dialogue.

Sincerely,

James

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