The power of not playing anymore

Once upon a time, many years ago, I found myself in a relationship with a man who had some anger and control issues.

I say ‘found myself’ because our relationship didn’t start out that way. He didn’t start out that way. But it turns out that not all fairy-tale romances live happily ever after. And sometimes it’s Prince Charming who turns into a frog.

Anyway, one day a couple of years into the relationship, when my Prince Charming had (metaphorically) begun to croak and grow webbed feet, we went to a local park to play a game of tennis.

He’d had an angry outburst en route to the park and once we’d reached the court and took our places either side of the net, I bent down to tighten my shoelaces and he smashed a ball at me, hitting me on the head.

He claimed it was an accident but as soon as we started to play it became obvious that he was viewing our supposedly fun game as an opportunity to volley all of his pent up aggression at me, and it became clear that he wanted to win at all costs.

Now, I was quite a decent tennis player at the time, and whenever we played each other we were pretty evenly matched.

But as I stood there preparing to serve while he glowered at me from the other side of the net I felt the power of ‘eff you’ taking root inside of me.

Eff you and your stupid power games, I thought to myself, I’m not going to play them any more.

I threw the ball insipidly into the air and hit it with all the power of a soggy biscuit. The ball plopped straight down into the net.

At first he didn’t realise what I was doing so he laughed mockingly and let out a whoop of victory.

But when I hit serve after serve straight into the net it soon became apparent.

Then, when I did send the ball over and he hit it back, I deliberately and comically missed.

‘What are you doing?’ he hissed. ‘Why aren’t you trying?’

‘I am,’ I cried. And the truth is, I was trying - trying to play really, really badly.

It was hilarious. I started holding my racket in front of me with two hands like a five year old serving chips, and hitting the ball into the next court and over the fence and anywhere but in.

He huffed and puffed and I laughed and laughed - internally at least - because I’d learned an invaluable lesson in taking back control in a really amusing way. Through no longer giving a shit and refusing to play a ‘game’ I had zero interest in.

Fast forward 20-something years to this week. That relationship is but a distant memory and I’d forgotten all about that day on the tennis court.

I’m currently staying in a town called Hilversum in The Netherlands, where I’m renting an apartment for three weeks to finish a novel.

The town is lovely - peaceful and friendly and green.

The apartment is lovely - after months of living out of single rooms I have the luxury of a kitchen and a washing machine and there's a balcony where I can go and sit and gaze upon treetops and church spires and the sky.

But I couldn’t shake a growing sadness that had been gathering around me like a dense fog.

The cause of my sadness? The state of the world.

Every day it seems that the unfolding horrors get worse.

Every day the stories of war and mass slaughter and greed and aggression tap, tap, tap at me from the inside of my phone.

I contemplated burying my head in the sand and avoiding the news, but with a son living and working as an aid worker in Ukraine that’s impossible, and I can’t help thinking that it’s morally wrong.

I’ve now written eight books, totalling almost one million words, on World War 2 and the Holocaust, championing the bravery of the Resistance and people who spoke up against hatred and genocide. I like to think that if I was alive then I would have been one of them. I can’t in all good conscience curate my social media and news feeds to airbrush out the atrocities currently being committed in the world. In my humble opinion, that’s how the Holocaust happened. Too many people chose to look the other way.

But by the same token - how do you stay sane and functioning in what appears to be an increasingly insane world?

The first few days I was here in Hilversum I cried a lot and slept a lot and barely did any work.

Then on about the fourth day I took myself out for a wander and I discovered a beautiful little park, tucked away down a side street. 

As soon as I walked through the gate and became surrounded by trees I felt the urge to pray.

I’m not a religious person but I do believe in the existence of Something More (as detailed in my spiritual memoir of the same name, which, if you’re interested, you can find here) and I always feel closest to that Something More when I’m immersed in nature.

‘I don’t know how to deal with the world any more,’ I whispered inside my head, gazing up at one of the trees. ‘Everything feels so messed up, like it’s rotten to the core.’

Almost instantly, I heard a response inside my head. ‘It’s not the world that’s rotten to the core, it’s the system. The world is perfect and always will be.’

I looked around at the towering trees, and the lush green of the grass and leaves, and the flowers forming vibrant splashes of purple and pink. And the truth in those words rang clear as a bell. 

The natural world is absolutely perfect. It’s the man-made systems and structures fuelled by a grasping greed for land / power / money /oil that are corrupt and killing thousand upon thousand upon thousand.

I walked on and found myself in a clearing where the air was full of the aroma of flowers and the sweet sound of birdsong. Someone had stuck a sticker on a post in front of me, saying PEACE NOW. I’m sure it was meant as a rallying cry for the world but in that moment I took it as a personal instruction. And I breathed in peace and breathed out sorrow.

I returned to my apartment feeling tentative buds of hope for the first time in ages.

I went to the market and brought brown paper bags full of plump strawberries and glossy cherries and freshly baked bread. I went to the ‘coffee shop’ and bought myself a doobie, which I took back to my balcony to smoke.

And it was there, on the balcony in the sunshine, that I remembered that terrible yet comical tennis game from so many years ago.

And I had another epiphany.

Just as I’d no longer wanted to play that stupid tennis game, I no longer want to play the system’s game.

And by that I mean, I no longer want to be a part of a system that sponsors war, famine, genocide and the mass slaughter of civilians in flagrant breach of international law - whoever those civilians might be and whatever side of the geographical, political or religious fence they happen to sit.

It’s obscene to me so I’m no longer playing. 

And what does that mean exactly?

Well, I’m still working on the finer details, but my current nomadic, self employed lifestyle feels like a good starting point.

I’m going to redesign my working life so that it’s all about helping as many people as possible.

I’m going to apply for voluntary work in Ukraine this summer, helping victims of the war there.

I’m going to make ‘keep adding to the love in the world’ my personal mantra to try and counter the aggression and hate.

I’m no longer going to vote for politicians I have zero faith in or respect for.

And any time I see state sponsored violence and oppression I’m going to cry from the rooftops… 

‘Not in my name! Not in my name! Not in my name! I’m no longer playing your bloodthirsty game!’

Until next week, sending you peace now,

Siobhan

PS: HUGE thanks to everyone who has reached out to me from all around the world to thank me for Wonderstruck. It makes me so happy to hear how my weekly letters are making you think and feel and laugh and cry and dream and do. Thank you x