News Fasting

I read recently about a woman who refuses to listen to or watch the news. No local news. No national news. No worldwide catastrophes delivered directly into her living room before breakfast. Her reasoning is simple. All that bad news is apt to drive a person a bit batty.

I understand. Today’s constant barrage of current events can make a person consider antidepressants as a dietary supplement. But how does one turn off the television, put down the tablet, fold up the newspaper, silence the radio, and simply not know? News, especially Breaking News, is addictive. Once hooked, it is difficult to kick the habit. At least it is for me. I experience withdrawal spasms if I think I am missing the latest development in a country I can’t pronounce and couldn’t locate on a map. Why do I care? What need is this constant emotional upheaval feeding inside me?

I haven’t a clue, and truth be told, I’m hesitant to delve too deeply into my psyche for fear of what I might find. We have become accustomed to knowing things almost before they happen. We want to be up to date on everything, good, bad, better, worse, relevant, irrelevant, or none of our business.

I have to ask myself, is it really important for me to know about every event that doesn’t affect me? And is anyone really interested in my unsolicited opinion on every topic crossing my social network? The answer to both questions is a resounding no. So why do I clutter my life and my mind with information that makes me nervous, cranky, fearful, and occasionally convinced civilization will collapse before lunch?

Maybe because all that noise keeps me occupied and ginned up, without the benefit of actually drinking gin. I can stay agitated, disturbed, and downright aggravated about something happening halfway around the world. I can judge the people involved, criticize the people trying to solve it and become furious with people I have never met.

While I am busy saving the world from my recliner, I can overlook the child who comes to school hungry in my own town. I can worry about suffering thousands of miles away without volunteering at the Second Chance. I can become outraged over the behavior of strangers while failing to notice someone nearby drowning in grief or being mistreated.

Perhaps that is the real danger of my addiction to the news. It gives me the illusion of being involved without requiring me to do anything. Outrage is easy. Concern is easy. Opinions are especially easy. Action is harder. So I turn up the volume on the television, bury my nose in electronic media, and leave it to someone else to solve the problems close enough for me to touch. After all, I’m busy worrying about the rest of the world.

Maybe I don’t need to stop caring about what happens beyond my front door. Maybe I just need to remember where my front door is.