I Do Declare!

Ode to the Declaration of Independence

(Reprise)

Image by DNY59 with Getty Images Signature

I love the southern phrase: I do declare!

Even better: Well, I do declare! 

I am not from the American South (as evidenced by the fact that I wilt when the temperature reaches 75˚ F or the humidity is greater than 50%), but as a writer I can appreciate a particularly delicious phrase. A sort of verbal contortionist, “I do declare” can mean I’m surprised, flummoxed, amazed, perturbed, astonished, proud, annoyed . . . .

The Urban Dictionary says it is “an exclamatory phrase which asserts/affirms the truth of a previous or forthcoming statement.” That seems to me a pale reflection of its rich diversity, but it suits my purposes right now.

Because today, in honor of our impending celebration of Independence Day, I do declare my independence from tyranny—the tyranny of fear and anxiety, resentment, and lack of self-confidence.

I know it doesn’t really work that way. I know my I do declare may be nothing more than sound and fury, a well-intentioned objective that will ultimately gather dust alongside the goal of exercising regularly and eating more vegetables. (I can’t eat more overall without needing an entirely new wardrobe, and if I have to choose between more chocolate and more vegetables, well, if you know me you know what my choice will be.)

But it’s a start.

In addition to the beloved assertions of the inalienable right to “Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness,” and the government’s solemn duty to “secure these rights,” our nation’s Declaration of Independence explains:

“ . . . all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed.”

Image by inhauscreative from Getty Images Signature

In other words, we tend to just endure suffering until we can’t any longer, until it reaches a tipping point. That seems to me true of so many aspects of being human, implicating another phrase, “better the devil you know.” 

When something is making me miserable, and it’s not in the service of an ultimate good (as with the aforementioned exercise-and-vegetable duo), I am more apt to continue suffering rather than doing the hard work of improving the situation, because suffering is familiar; it’s the devil I know. 

In Lori Gottlieb’s marvelous book, Maybe You Should Talk to Someone, the author explains that people often seek out relationships that mirror their childhoods, even when those earlier relationships were negative, because we unconsciously lean toward the familiar. Just another example of voluntarily continuing to suffer rather than freeing ourselves from our internal tyrannies.

The Declaration of Independence goes on to say that “we the people” shouldn’t make drastic changes in our government “for light and transient causes” but only when there has been “a long train of abuses and usurpations.”

Bear with me—I know these lines are referring to overthrowing British rule and establishing a new democracy, and nothing in this post is intended to trivialize that momentous decision. But I think there are parallels in the ordinary and the mundane. In our communal life, protecting democracy and holding our government accountable to “secure” the enumerated “inalienable rights”—these are critically important to the health and wellbeing of our nation. In my personal life, I have no less responsibility to address my faults and flaws, for my own emotional health and, by extension, the wellbeing of those within my orbit who may be affected by my hamster-wheel of anxiety.

Which brings me back to my I do declare.

My daughter has noticed that I have become more anxious in my dotage. (Okay, she didn’t use the word dotage, but I do feel like I’m teetering on the edge of decrepitude.) Sometimes it just seems there are so many things to worry about.

I worry about melting glaciers and rising sea levels and drought and wildfires and viruses and resource scarcity and the fact that every new catastrophe has a larger impact on those least able to absorb such impacts.

I worry about the seemingly endless ways in which my children, and now my grandchild, could get hurt. (Inserting here, just because I can, a picture of my life-affirming, joy-inducing, not-tyrannical or worry-obsessed grandchild and his marvelous dad.)

I worry about offending or upsetting others—living on a small island, the prospect of conflict is both more immediate and more problematic.

I worry about the continuing constriction of activities open to me; between arthritis and a host of other medical maladies, the list of adventures and projects I can undertake is shorter with each passing year.

Obviously, fear can be a useful emotion, prodding me to take sensible precautions and avoid unnecessary risks. However, fear of what could happen has become a guiding principle, and although it should go without saying, I’ll say it anyway: that’s not good.

So today I throw off the shackles of fear, and vow to embrace the present moment in all its glorious unpredictability. Today I see that the sun is shining, my flags are waving in a gentle breeze, my wonderful family is visiting, and I am, if not a picture of vibrant health, still upright and mobile.

Well, I do declare!