Dec 20, 2021 3 min read

I’ve been in malaise of sorts for a few weeks. Whatever it is, it is decidedly Romantic. I’ll explain.

I was a big fan of the English Romantic poets when I studied them in college. Shelley, Byron, Keats, Coleridge, Wordsworth and others were my pals. Even now – more than 50 years after my plan to become an English professor went awry – I find relevance in their words.

Since I fell into this funk – disquietude, despondency, lassitude, what have you – I’ve been thinking of Wordsworth’s sonnet, “The World Is Too Much with Us.” Especially its first four lines:

“The world is too much with us; late and soon,

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;-

Little we see in Nature that is ours;

We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!”

What this means in contemporary prose is that mankind is distracted by worldly things – possessions, money, everyday trivialities – and thus can no longer take solace in the beauty of Nature. Well, I still appreciate the beauty of Nature. But I have to say that the world is definitely too much with me.

In fact, the world as I know it is crumbling before my eyes.

After the pandemic-lockdown horrors of 2020, I had high hopes for 2021. But only six days into it, a bunch of anarchists tried to overthrow the United States government. Although I lived through the cultural and political revolutions of the Sixties, I just did not think something like that could happen in a country that is supposed to be a bastion of democracy. It was both frightening and sickening to watch, and I would say this no matter what the political affiliations of the perpetrators had been. I found myself wishing that the late newsman Walter Cronkite were still with us. I could hear him signing off by saying, “And – if you can believe it – that’s the way it is, January 6, 2021.”

I live in a constant state of dread over what might happen next to our society. I hate the contentiousness that has become the hallmark of what used to be the most benign human interactions. I dread the coming political seasons. I despise the use of the term “personal freedoms” to justify everything from not wearing a face mask to displaying a flag bearing a swastika.

Don’t get me wrong: I still gaze in wonder at Mother Nature. But she scares me more every day. We’ve poisoned the planet. Global warming is accelerating. Weather patterns are screwy. It’s hotter, colder, drier and wetter … all at the same time. And no one will take responsibility.

And so – despite many wonderful things having happened to me this year – I arrive in my current state: funk; disquietude; despondency; lassitude. Malaise.

I’m not sure if any of my Romantic poet pals have words to lift me up.

So I’ll quote David Crosby:

“And you know

The darkest hour

Is always just before the dawn.”