What’s Going on in the United States?

Many years ago over lunch at an outdoor cafe, a friend confided she had been diagnosed with “chronic fatigue.” Like many of us, I misunderstood this to mean she was always tired. But because a doctor had labeled her so, she was “really seriously tired.” I learned that chronic fatigue is a profound depletion of energy that affects every decision, every task, every hope for what the day might bring. It is not improved by rest. These patients struggle to complete the tasks of their day. They simply cannot muster the strength because of invisible limitations. This was her story.

A society can experience something similar in struggling to complete its tasks for the day. Institutions continue to function. People go to work. Financial markets operate. Daily life rumbles on. But there is a collective sense of exhaustion, disconnection, and diminished possibility. The nation lacks vitality. Like chronic fatigue, ordinary challenges feel overwhelming and can erode confidence that the situation will improve. Today, this seems to be America’s story.

One of the obvious “situations” is the political cycle, with each party bringing its own sources of depletion to certain segments of the population. Doesn’t this carry over to the segment not in power? Don’t the decisions of the sitting government affect the “decision, task, and hope” of everyone? If we are not putting forth energy to defend policy, we are spending energy to rebut or rebel against it. As this escalates, it is no surprise that we are seeing exhaustion and disconnection in our country. Is it any surprise that so many see their futures shrinking?

So it goes with chronic fatigue, a tunneling of the future. It is not the exhaustion that is most painful, but the shrinking of what feels possible. Decisions about “What do I want to do today?” are replaced by “What can I manage today?” Hoped-for events on the calendar get ditched as energy wanes. One by one our world dominoes until it is so small it becomes unfulfilling.

A society can experience a similar contraction. During periods of national fatigue, people lose faith that problems can be solved. Multiple wars, unrelenting budget deficits, and repeated failure of those in power to recognize the needs of the citizenry permeate news and thoughts and confound action. Our founding institutions play politics, creating quicksand where there should be granite. Any faith we had in those we elected to represent us is lost in the waffling and jockeying for power, and we, the people, are left confused, upset, and yes, tired of it all. We are fed up and faithless and snipe at our friends about the latest headline or “How can we get through this?” There is no talk of building anything new, or of improving on what’s not working. The collective horizon narrows.

My chronically fatigued friend surely gets it.

In both cases, diminished possibility is as much a psychological condition as a practical one. Fatigue drains not only the body or collective of energy, it alters our perception. It can make obstacles appear larger than they are. It can make them seem permanent and out of reach. What we once looked at as achievable has been whittled away into the unrealistic.

A terrible casualty, yet this is where recovery begins. Not at the physical level by trying to restore strength, as we would think. Recovery begins with the restoration of hope. Likewise, a nation may regain a shared vision before anything tangible appears. The ability to imagine a different future is often the first sign of renewal.

This is why stories matter so much. The stories we tell ourselves and the ones we pass down to our children. Stories keep possibility alive at the human level when evidence is scarce. They remind us that exhaustion is not destiny. Periods of depletion can be followed by periods of rebuilding. And both individuals and society can regain the capacity to envision a larger future than the one fatigue has allowed them to see.

Love, Alice