Doomscrolling and a search for joy

I’ve been “doomscrolling.”

Neurotically, compulsively doomscrolling.

According to the Cambridge Dictionary, doomscrolling is “the activity of spending a lot of time looking at your phone or computer and reading bad or negative news stories.” Yep, that’s me.

I blame my doomscrolling on reading the New York Daily News — a tabloid — during World War II.

Tabloids get a bad rap.

Big headlines were even easier reading material than the back of a cereal box for a 6-year-old kid.

Big, bold headlines grabbed my attention.

Words like “WAR,” “NAZI,” and “ALLIES” were easy-reading primers.

War plastered the wallpaper of my mind.

I wore a wartime dog tag around my neck in second grade.

I can still picture it — ivory-colored Bakelite plastic with my name and birthdate printed in blue.

In February 1942, New York City’s Mayor La Guardia ordered these tags for all schoolchildren.

My neckpiece was a daily reminder of bad things happening in faraway places.

But, after WWII, I turned my attention away from the news.

As decades passed, my family, friends, work and church were my happy places. I didn’t make room for news.

While Bill enjoyed the same happy places, he managed to stay in touch with what was happening in the larger world.

Radio was his favorite source of news.

Bill stationed radios in his bathroom, our kitchen, and his office. And our bedroom.

Even as TV news became ever-present, Bill still preferred radios and newspapers.

He pondered local and world events — deeply mulling over them.

While he understood the news, he didn’t overreact.

Or get depressed or anxious.

“How does he keep our sanity when the world seems insane?”

Recently I came across a quote that reminded me of Bill; “Be joyful even though you know all the facts.” — Wendell Berry.

Joy?

I’m just trying to keep sane.

But I learned from Bill that there may be something to this “joy thing.”

Even though he was in kidney failure and then dying of cancer, he managed to find joy.

We owned a small plot of mountain land where a small, symmetrical fir tree sat alone at the dry entrance.

Until his final illness, Bill lugged a heavy water-filled container out of our truck at every mountain visit.

When Bill died six years ago last month, humanity seemed at odds with itself, and Bill knew his life was coming to an end.

Yet, he didn’t despair. He still found joy.

Readers, what works to lift you from gloom when you read the news? Or when you receive sad personal information?