Red Sox News: Chris Martin returns after anxiety attack

Everything about life today is terrible.

Or at least I think so. Sometimes.

Democracy is in a defensive posture. Entire workforces are being replaced by fake AI that is unable to do the job it is supposed to do. And with the uncertainty in full swing, consumer goods that were once useful are now being deliberately made worse because the wrong people have discovered that you can make a lot of money from mediocrity. So many little things in life seem to get a little worse every day. But instead of doing something about it together, we all just go online and shout at each other.

That last point is a big problem for me personally. Like almost everyone else my age or younger, I’m addicted to my phone. I compulsively reach for it even when I’m doing something I normally enjoy. And I do it mindlessly, not because I need to look something up or actually do something, but because my body is now simply trained to do it. And yet, when I put my phone down, I’m almost never happier than I was when I picked it up. That’s intentional. Social media is designed to make us angry, because it’s anger that inspires the most engagement. And we microdose that anger all day long, only for the most cynical and depraved actors in our completely broken politics to pour gasoline on that anger. And so it goes, in circles.

When you add it all up—from the little annoyances like the crappy results you now get on Amazon and the fact that you can no longer bring bags into Fenway Stadium, to the big things like the continued rise of fascism and the fact that Amazon is destroying the concept of local business altogether—you get a sad reality: A lot of capital and brainpower is being spent on making us all angry and afraid. And it’s working. I think about all of this all the time, which of course only makes me angrier and more afraid.

But last week, I picked up my four-year-old from daycare, got him a cold drink, and lifted him onto my shoulders to walk to the Green Line. That’s when I heard him say, “Mmm, what’s better than a mango lassi on a hot summer day!” and my heart exploded like the confetti machine at TD Garden and for a moment, everything in life just felt perfect. Is there anything better than a cold drink on a hot summer day? I can’t say for sure that there is.

Every now and then, moments like that break through my phone’s defenses and remind me that not everything is going down the drain. I spend a few minutes watching fireflies on my back patio and can’t believe how awesome it is that there are little, tiny bugs that glow to celebrate the arrival of summer. I switch gears from a baseball game being played on the other side of the continent to a soccer game being played on an entirely different continent and think about how wonderful it is that the whole world is accessible to me—if not thanks to the flight, then thanks to streaming. My four-year-old, who is sitting at the kitchen table snacking just hours after declaring that a mango lassi is the best thing ever on a summer day, is now smiling and asking me, “What’s better than a blueberry on a spoon?” and I have no answer for him because he’s so legitimately intrigued—blueberries are great and spoons are great and everyday life can just be so damn satisfying sometimes.

The world is still an amazing place and people are still capable of creating miracles. It’s just really, really hard to see that sometimes.

Last night, relief pitcher Chris Martin returned to the Red Sox after an extended absence due to anxiety. I don’t know exactly what made him so nervous, but it’s not hard to make a few guesses. The news of a multimillionaire baseball player taking paid leave from his job despite having no physical ailments was met by some people (though by no means all) with disbelief, derision and, of course, anger.

Such reactions are not surprising, and there is no point in refuting them – that would only serve to perpetuate the cycle of anger on social media. But it might be worth exploring why so many of the attacks on Martin are about money. Of course, it is true that, unlike most of us, Chris Martin does not have to worry about paying off mortgages or student loans. And it is also true that most of our employers would probably be reluctant to give us time off to clear our heads. But the fact that Martin is struggling with the same crap in his head as the rest of us despite The millions of dollars that have accumulated in his bank account should not create jealousy and resentment. They should create understanding. They should bring us closer together.

Being human is hard right now, no matter what our station in life is. The economic, technological and political forces that so trouble us are far too great for any of us to handle alone, and Chris Martin’s millions are no defense. This is not to deny that his life is in many ways simpler than ours. It is. But if it is nevertheless true that everyday life is really amazing in many ways (and let’s face it, there are fireflies, of course everyday life is wonderful), then it is necessarily true that it is wonderful whether you have a million dollars or not. And it is also true that the same things that make it hard to see how wonderful life is exist regardless of the number of zeros in your bank account.

So, yeah, it’s a damn shame we don’t all have jobs that pay us to take a break. Because, Jesus, we all need a break right now. Everything is terrible, but everything is also wonderful. We need to be able to take some time to appreciate the wonderful.

As I write this, it’s 98 degrees in New England. It’s not supposed to be this hot in New England on June 20th, but the first four months of 2024 have been the hottest first four months in recorded human history. That’s pretty alarming considering 2023 was already by far the hottest year in recorded human history. It’s going to get even hotter, and our completely broken political system will continue to struggle to do anything about it, and we’ll all go online and yell at each other.

But while I’m walking through the world getting nervous, my four-year-old is running through a lawn sprinkler pretending it’s a car wash. He did that yesterday, too, with a popsicle in his hand. And then he ran up to me as I sat on the back patio working and asked, “Is there anything better than this day?”

Up until that point, I hadn’t considered that there could be anything miraculous on this sweltering Wednesday when nothing particularly remarkable was happening to me. But just as I couldn’t deny the miracle of a blueberry on a spoon, I couldn’t deny him here. The day was miraculous. I just needed his help to see that. We all need help to see that.