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In Words We Trust

July 7, 2022   ·   0 Comments

By Anthony Carnovale

I love having a column in the newspaper that covers the community I live in. I like the challenge of having to find something to write about every couple of weeks. I like the struggle that comes with writing a piece and submitting the polished draft for editing. I love the writing process. I love the ups and the downs, the bumps and the bruises that come with the writing game.

I’d like to have a column out every couple of weeks — but life has funny way of blowing up my to-do lists. It’s not for lack of trying. I must have attempted 15-20 different columns over the past few months. I’d start something — on the economy; housing; the Ukraine; the provincial election — only to give up on it after a few paragraphs. Like a new year’s resolution, they’d start off well but then fizzle out over time.

I think one of the reasons this has been happening is because, like a lot of you, I’m exhausted. Trying to make sense all of the nonsense that is playing out in our lives is an all-consuming affair. If it’s not climate change, inflation, housing prices, politics, it’s the price of apples and shoes, and the fact a bag of popcorn and a bottle of water, from BMO Field, set me back $18 the other week. It’s relentless. I curse when I drive by a gas station, sigh when I look at images from the Ukraine. And then I look around me, and I’m even more stumped. Gas prices are at an all-time high, yet every vehicle, in every second driveway, is a tank disguised as a truck. Interest rates are rising, personal debt is out of control and there’s a green bin in front of every fifth house. My head is spinning.

My gut tells me that most people have just said ‘the hell with it’ — and the fact that only 43% of eligible voters in Ontario voted last month tells me it’s more head than gut.  People have given up; people are angry. I see it in the comments section of our major newspapers, in the signs taped to the rear windows of trucks bullying their way down Hwy 10. I hear it in conversations with colleagues and family members. I read it in our papers; I see it on TV. Social media is a cesspool of fake news, big mouths, and people looking for a reflection because they’re tired of not being seen, heard, or loved.

I get angry, too. But I won’t let it consume me. Being angry at someone, or something, is like swallowing poison and expecting the other person to die. So, I write. And this column lets me have the space, and responsibility, to work out some of these thoughts and feelings that I’m haggling with. It means I have to focus and give time, real time, to issues our community is facing. Time matters; space matters. Some might call it being mindful (I can’t stand the word). I call it being engaged, compassionate, thoughtful, responsible. I opted out of social media for a more critical, saner and slower approach to speaking my mind and participating in public a forum. This is why I get annoyed with myself when I don’t finish a column.

I also want to give this space the respect it deserves. This is not a game. I’ve learned that columnists have to give the impression that they know what they’re writing about. In my eyes, it can’t be faked (it can, but readers will eventually figure it out). Just like my students can suss out a teacher pretending to know what they’re talking about it, readers of newspapers and columns can, too. Those columns that I started but couldn’t finish? After reading a draft, I felt like a fake. I was writing something for the sake of writing something.

In the end, it comes down to a matter of trust. The word ‘trust’ stems from the words ‘true’ and ‘truth’. Our inability to trust one another, to be truthful to one another, and to discern between what is real and what isn’t, is what led us to where we are today.

The same applies to writing. For a piece of writing to work, the author has to have some sort of connection to it. The writer has to be close enough to the subject to write about it in a truthful and sincere manner. I don’t have the imagination to make things up from scratch — my voice, my truth, comes from what I know, things I have seen, tasted, touched. It’s an intimate process similar to love. Rainer Maria Rilke wrote: ‘Love requires a progressive shortening of the senses.’ You have to be close to a person in order to love that person.

I love this community. In so many ways, this column is what keeps me connected to it, what keeps me connected to you. Moving forward, I’m going to be more consistent. Trust me.

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