I have a vivid memory of the first time I heard someone say, ‘What can you do?’ On reflection, I’m reasonably sure it wasn’t the first time it was said in my presence or even the first time it was said to me.
The difference, the sense of hearing this rhetorical question for the first time, involved the significance of the moment.
A neighbour – a woman who migrated from Italy to Australia in the mid 1950s – said it to me at a time when I was grieving and this question/statement elicited almost instantaneous comfort.
Comfort arising from an internal acknowledgement of the fact that, however painful it might be, there are some things beyond our control. I don’t recall any thought process or analysing of the meaning of what was said. I just remember nodding and knowing that she had made me aware of a universal truth and a way of dealing with past events and coping with the future however long that process might take.
From what I know of my neighbour’s life, it contains plenty of ‘What can you do?’ moments. Enough to not only mould her own stoic nature, but also make her sensitive to the needs of others; others in particular who are facing the inevitable figurative brick walls that occasionally confront all of us. At these times life hands us an opportunity of growing through pausing, even if only briefly, and confronting the fragility of life, our own fragility and our delusions of being in control.
On another level, a sense of helplessness can be experienced on a regular basis when government policies or actions fly in the face of what individuals or groups think are just or humane. In a democratic society, the right to protest peacefully and have our say at such times is a gift worth defending and preserving. What people can do at these times may be limited, at least temporarily, but it is not nothing.
While the tone of what I have said so far may seem to be dwelling on the serious moments of life, there are plenty of examples of lighter occasions when ‘What can you do?’ applies.
Recently a friend described such a time. After months of preparing their home for sale and enduring endless inspections, she and her husband received a notice from the local council informing them that road works in their street were scheduled to commence on the day of the auction. Her reaction was to laugh and rely on the creativity of the auctioneer to put a positive spin on the upgrade in the area.
Double bookings of dates for various get-togethers inevitably leave some people facing disappointment and a ‘What can you do?’ moment. A mature response in these cases is often a shrug of the shoulders.
Most of us admire those who adapt graciously, bearing neither grudges nor any sense of self-pity, anger or angst in the face of ‘What can you do?’ dilemmas. This is particularly the case when the circumstances are devastating. Repeatedly we see people in the public domain who inspire us with their responses to and ways of moving on from what can only be interpreted as shattering experiences.
People taking part in the Paralympics are prime examples. As are those who face a terminal illness with a determination to live the remaining days of their life in positive and fulfilling ways. The late Betty Churcher, artist, author, and a former director of the Australian National Gallery, expressed this beautifully in an interview earlier this year with ABC 7.30 presenter Leigh Sales. In a different context, current Australian of the Year, Rosie Batty, immediately comes to mind.
The degree to which Rosie suffered when her beloved 11-year-old son, Luke, was murdered by his father is beyond the imagination of most of us. Yet, with almost incredible strength she responded in a positive way, speaking out in defence of all those who are subjected to family violence.
From that moment of transition, when she faced the impossibility of changing what had happened to Luke, and to her, and indeed to Luke’s father, Rosie dedicated all of her efforts to preventing others from suffering in the same way. She has raised awareness in the community about family violence to an unprecedented level. And her work is dedicated to the memory of her son.
If we had the opportunity to ask any Paralympic competitor, Betty Churcher or Rosie Batty ‘What can you do?’ they might well respond, ‘Nothing and Everything’.
Maureen O'Brien did research and writing for the Penguin reference book Chronicle of Australia.
Gesturing man image by Shutterstock.