Pausing for thought amid the noise in Ireland

By Joyce Fegan

A man I met in London this week told me they don’t talk about Brexit anymore.

“You can’t. If you bring it up with a mate and they’re on the other side, then that could be the end of the friendship. And you definitely don’t bring it up on a first date,” he said — ring finger brandishing a band of gold.

“I know what you mean,” I said, “we’ve a topic a bit like that in Ireland.”

I left this gentleman and headed off up the Thames Embankment, through parks in full bloom, past big red buses and black cabs, and thought to myself, Isn’t it great to have a day off the island?

The only flyers being handed out here were for discounts on cups of coffees and tours on the Thames.

When I arrived in the area of Westminster, I saw a group of what I thought were protesters. They were dressed in blue and covered in yellow stars made of felt.

Together they held up a 10ft-long banner that read: “Save Britain from Brexit: Come talk to us no matter what side you’re on.”

They had a few takers, of which I was not one. I continued up the Thames Embankment.

Just the night before I had found myself pressing play on some audio link my sister had sent me.

“Laurel or Yanny?” read her text.

“I heard Yanny. You?”

She’d heard Laurel.

We then talked about her eldest boy, who’s five, but he’s had a recent growth spurt and she’s had to buy him clothes for seven-year-olds. We bid each other adieu via Whatsapp and sealed it with an ‘x’.

The next morning, Thursday, I wake up to headlines of more women dead because of the cervical smear test scandal. Is scandal the incorrect word, I wonder.

Later in the day a friend sends me a photo of one of our favourite mountains. All I see is its majestic outline and now the word ‘NO’ in big white letters.

I come out of my messages app to check my email. It’s been pinging more regularly of late. All these companies are asking me about privacy and data. Facebook and Instagram keep asking me to review their policy.

I keep dodging them. They all keep telling me the same thing — there’s something happening on May 25, new EU legislation, the GDPR (General Data Protection Regulation) will come into force. I refuse to engage. I’ve enough going on.

I’ve been keeping count over the last two weeks or so of the amount of people who disclose big life things to me. They’re revealed in seemingly innocuous conversation.

One involved a loved one living in emergency accommodation. Another was about a very sick nephew. The revelations weren’t accompanied with tears. They were all said very matter-of-factly.

My reaction was not one of sympathy or even help, because all hands were rendered tied, if not useless, it was just to listen.

There’s a lot going on in people’s lives, I thought. People have a lot going on.

And this is all before they’ve to hear about health service failings, data protection, and finding out if their ears pick up “Laurel” or “Yanny”, let alone how they’ll vote in a referendum.

How are people expected to have clarity of thought about anything when our world is so full of noise?

I really like bookshops and frequent them regularly, sometimes I part with money, sometimes not. But I always look at the bestseller shelves. They tell me something about my people.

This week we’re into Liz Nugent’s latest crime novel, the Happy Pear’s vegetarian cooking, and emotional resilience.

Author Liz Nugent

About a year ago, Caroline O’Doherty of this newspaper interviewed Dr Harry Barry about his book, Anxiety and Panic. The article spent days atop our most read section.

Dr Barry has a new book out, Emotional Resilience: How to Safeguard your Mental Health. A lot of us are interested, it seems; last I checked it was number four on the bestseller list.

It’s not exclusively about depression or anxiety or panic attacks, instead it covers things like how to challenge perfectionism, procrastination, and catastrophising.

After several years of intense news consumption, my default mode is set to catastrophise. I bought the book.

It’s not so much theory about neuroscience and such, although there is that, it’s mostly exercises.

My latest catastrophisation: Have I evidence the absolute worst will come to pass or is it just a bit of spilt milk? Turns out, there’s a lot of spilt milk in my life.

Dr Barry also talks about “rating”. Something happens, say a row with your brother, and you feel quite yucky in its aftermath — let’s call that feeling shame. Your PC or pathological critic has kicked in.

Imagine a world leader hurling abuse at you and you’ll have a clear enough picture of the PC. You’re rating yourself as awful, useless, abnormal, worthless, or a failure.

Dr Barry asks you to first recognise this self-rating and then challenge it in writing. Can a person be a “failure” as a whole? No. Can they fail at a task? Yes. Can an entire human being be rated as “awful”? No. Can their behaviour be awful? Yes.

It’s liberating once you get into the swing of it.

Dr Harry Barry

In this country full of noise, with its constant stream of information, it follows that some of us may feel a little overwhelmed from time to time, our mental health may be challenged and our clarity of thought clouded.

I’m not much of a religious type, but there is something about the Angelus – the idea of pausing whatever it is we are doing to take stock.

Simple things like noticing the air travelling up your nostrils and hitting the back of your throat helps, as does listening out for sounds close to you and then in the distance. Notice the distribution of your weight on that chair.

As our country takes stock before a historic vote next Friday, pause for your own thought and find your own clarity.

And after Friday, whether you find yourself in the minority or majority, let’s not have a Brexit effect — let’s all keep talking to each other.