Artist Yayoi Kusama; National Art Center, Tokyo, March 2017

Some years ago, I took singing lessons to improve my breath control and pitch. One of my voice teacher’s favorite drills was this: She would strike a note on the piano, and I would take a deep breath and sing that note. As soon as I began to sing, she would start pounding a deafening cacophony on the keyboard.

Then, when I was just about out of breath, she would cease her terrible racket, and strike the initial note she had cued me with. The hope (goal) was that I would still–despite her harsh intervention–be holding my note.

These singing drills are a lot like life in the United States.

We are experiencing a ton of ugly noise, much of which emanates from our leaders. Emboldened, others have chimed in. As a sorry result, our public “discourse” has become infuriating, disheartening, terrifying. Thoughts are not carefully considered and expressed; listening isn’t happening.  In this setting, it is easy to get overwhelmed and to throw one’s hands up in resignation.

This is what bad leaders hope for. They hope to make such a protracted, ugly racket that either we will start singing their discordant tune, or, isolate ourselves in self defense.

We cannot let ourselves be drowned out by inflammatory torrents of gaslighting, illogic, and hate. We cannot let ourselves be worn down by leaders, colleagues, family members or friends who lack intelligence, self-restraint, or conscience.

It’s true that we may not be able to silence the cacophony, still, we can turn up the volume on our own notes–and we must.

I myself have had a lot of trouble staying clear and calm in the turbulence that now characterizes daily life in the States. Sadly, this turbulence is not confined to politics or social media, but also affects our day-to-day interactions in our workplaces and schools, and with our families and friends. No one is left unscathed. For months, I have felt battered and helpless, unable to figure out what I could do that would give me an even-keeled sense of inner calm.

Then I remembered my singing lessons, and the way that my voice teacher and her drills had helped me to focus. To be sure, there were many days when her piano playing took me badly off key. But over time, I became less focused on what crazy thing SHE was going to play, and more focused on the still point from which MY note came.

It was true then, and it is truer now: my best response to anyone who is off the rails is to hold my own note, clear and true.