Corona Chronicles 3-25-2020
Like many, the COVID-19 virus has forced me to look inward, reflect on life, what matters, how to cope, mortality, love, and what I want my legacy to be. Sadly, but truthfully, if it all ended today, the obituary would read, “Here lies Pam, she had a good sense of humor and died pissed off.”
I know anger is not the sword that will sustain me through this fight. I also know the best way to get rid of “things dark” is to feel the tightening of their grip, then dump them without filter. Thank you white space and cursor for providing a deposit box.
I keep witnessing scorn and distain for shoppers hoarding supplies. Yes, it’s upsetting, but I can’t fake being shocked or surprised by the behavior. When we teach an entire country to focus on a thriving economy over the multi-dimensional aspects of wellbeing for its citizens, what do you expect? Especially from lower income workers, simply trying to protect themselves and their families. This is where “I got mine” capitalism fails. It’s not wrong in principle (hard work gets the pony), but there is a moral line to how much is enough, and we seem to have crossed it.
I also am not surprised by young people who refuse to leave Florida’s beaches or each other’s sides. I don’t like their actions either, but after handing them a dying planet, a future of pandemics, cyber-attacks, cutting their graduations and school year’s short, some may think it’s the last party they’re ever going to attend. Revenge on us boomers, sitting in our homes, waiting to see if we get sick, and to what degree, finding new and creative ways to live our lives fully in a box.
So now we cling to the great $1200 fix (which will probably be deducted from your 2020 tax return if you are lucky enough to get it, your own money regurgitating) while celebrities, politicians, sports figures, and elitists find ways to get tested, asymptomatic, leaving the working class to stand in the sick conga line, washing hands, keeping distance, dealing with the collapse of all they’ve built, still not able to connect the dots on the socialistic principles about to be applied, here again, with different bias for the wealthy.
People of faith would argue we need to pray our way out of the vortex. I pray for my cynicism to convert to hope, the beacon my own belief tells me is the one that needs to shine right now, the real sword I must carry. But I first need to manage the frustration I feel regarding what may have been prevented with honesty, planning, and a modern, scientific mindset. Our world is a big chess board, with elected leaders thinking they are “Spasskyesque,” while making decisions blindfolded, with little regard to cause and effect. The only way I know how to ignite my own light, in the wake of this, is through forgiveness, (harder than hard) gratitude, acts of service, benevolence…so I will commit to working on these things before one final toxic thought.
For those who still want to stay in their Staterooms, waiting for truth and guidance in from the President, you have every right to remain without criticism. I won’t convince you to join me as I jump ship and grab on to the sliver of ice floating by. I won’t take a seat in a lifeboat meant to hold someone who is sick, but the water is rising, there’s buoyancy in facts, science, subject matter experts, and the abounding forces of love, the only thing cutting through the worst version of myself I’ve become, since seeing the early warnings in January and noticing evert government contract I work on has clauses in it specifically for PANDEMICS. How is it we are so under-prepared?
I have worked outside the home, nearly every day, since I was 16, apart from a few short months spent with my daughter when she was young. The circumstances were similar in that it took the jarring act of a miscarriage to reset my compass. I am less than 10 years from retirement, a destination I told myself I absolutely earned through toil, tenacity, and service to the nation. Today I suspect I will need to keep working until I die, which hopefully will be later than sooner. And that’s not even what rattles me. What rattles me is not knowing a realistic timeline for a positive shift. This seems to be up to our local representatives, who are now all part of a giant flattery contest for the President, who has basically told New York, Los Angeles, and Chicago to go drop dead. I guess the way to help these cities is for Cuomo to promise a “Trump Celebration Parade” in April, Newsom to coax Tarantino to direct, “You’re a Handsome, Stable Genius,” and have it in theaters by next summer, and for the rest of us to watch the press conferences like lemmings, nod our heads, and accept outlandish claims as Gospel. After 3 years of the same, it’s hard to put my trust in the man who cries, “wolf.”
Graduations now cancelled, proms, performances, vacations, and for those lucky enough to cling to jobs, retirement appears cancelled, as well. And even this takes a back seat to living. How can we ensure that living isn’t cancelled? I guess it’s man-in-the-mirror principle, to shift from victimhood to fighter.
Last night Sherry and I listened to DJ Dnice, who spun tunes from the funk and disco era. We danced and recalled happier times. The music worked as a salve. We also were intentional in setting up a regular Zoom meeting with family and seeing the faces of those we care the most for, softened me, made me vigilant to change my outlook.
I have committed to keep writing away the vitriol, supporting my local economy and participating in whatever acts of volunteerism I can muster. These things, in addition to maintaining my regular job, will keep me off the ledge.
I pray, though not in the organized, conventional ways. God has typically manifested for me in the beauty of nature, content of heart, the vision of people at their best. At my best, I am making you laugh, keeping it light. Today, the lounge act needs a huge makeover.
Ration the news, read from credible sources, connect with loved ones (virtually), stay mindful about health, and take stock in what continues to be good – the dog’s morning wake-up, buds on the trees, the neighbor’s on their swing set, a finely crafted sentence, the calming breath of my beloved, the good that is surfacing in many and the hope it will also emerge in me, who by my own painfully honest account, has had to put in a lot of extra effort to birth it.
