Coronavirus diary: Control

The biggest cause of anxiety for me during the pandemic and accompanying social upheaval has been to grapple, once again, with how much of my life - and the life of my child - really isn't under my control.

I say once again, because nine years ago at this time I was in bad state. I'd lost my job a year before and was barely scraping together an income freelancing. Then I ended up with a bout of diverticulitis that killed me and necessitated three surgeries that caused incredible pain, and a lengthier-than-expected recovery. The results broke me, physically, and nearly did so mentally. I only got by thanks to the suport of my wife and family.

So I know that things can go awry, despite your best efforts. I know that we don't always get happy endings. This sometimes puts me at odds with my dad, an incorrigible optimist -- and that optimism has served him extremely well -- but I believe that happy endings are as much about luck as anything. You can do the right thing, but stuff (the country you're born in, a random mutation in your DNA, the weather, some other driver's bad decision) will get in the way. The control we think we exercise over our own lives is mostly an illusion that can be shattered in an instant. Or, as seems to currently be the case, over weeks and months that all bleed together.

The disaster that is 2020 has brought that home, once again.

I don't know that I (or we, collectively) are going to get a happy ending. I frequently suspect not. But as I've noted, I'm given to apocalyptic thinking. I worry that I'm going to die soon of COVID. Or if not, I'll live but die someday broke and miserable, unable to provide for my wife or son. Or that my son will live a life on the margins, simply trying to survive in a world beset with financial depression, pandemics and climate change. Worse: I have no idea how to prepare him for that.

I can do what I can do. And I will. But I can't control what ultimately happens.

It's a cliche to resort to the Serenity Prayer during moments like these. (It's also longer and Jesus-ier than what usually gets quoted.)  And it feels selfish, hypocritical to pray right now, when so often I ... don't. "God, I know we don't talk often, but I need something from you." But there is wisdom there, nonetheless:

God, grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change,
the courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.
Living one day at a time,
enjoying one moment at a time;
accepting hardship as a pathway to peace;
taking, as Jesus did,
this sinful world as it is,
not as I would have it.

There's even more! But this approach is all that gives me peace right now. And maybe a little hope.

Today's thought of dread

I'm given to apocalyptic thinking, so bear with me. But.

I wonder if the plans we're still trying to make and the arguments we're having aren't entirely irrelevant to reality, that our ticket is already punched -- the flood is coming, and a few of us might be on the ark, but most of us aren't.

I hope not. 

But.

Coronavirus diary: What I've learned about me...

...is how boring I am.

My routine in lockdown -- or semi-lockdown, as the case seems to be at this point -- is to read, write, watch movies, do a little housecleaning, and, well, that's it.

Which is pretty close to what I was doing before. But now I'm really tired of it.

The horrifying thing to me about my life is how little of it I have given up in lockdown. I don't have any real hobbies. I don't make stuff. I don't go places. I worked at home before, I work at home now, and that's it. Mostly, I miss going to the coffee shop now and again to see people.

I hope it's not too late for me to find a real and more active, more interesting life on the other side of this thing.

The joys and sorrows of reading during the pandemic

I've found myself as a reader again during the pandemic. 

There are several reasons for this. One is that I overdosed on screen time early on, obsessing about every new development as the virus spread. That hasn't changed as much as it should, but I've learned that the best way to curb it is to go to a room -- or a park, or even just sit in the car at Sonic -- and leave all electronic devices, including my iPhone, behind.

The good news is I'm catching up on literature I've long meant to get around to. I reread THE FIRE NEXT TIME, and finally go to Toni Morrison's BELOVED. Right now I'm juggling Jill Lepore's THESE TRUTHS with THE SECRET GARDEN -- a family read -- and MOBY DICK. I'm loving everything. And I'm not bothering with books that don't capture me. I read 50 pages of a relatively recent novel last week, decided it wasn't for me, and returned it to the library. Life's too short.

On the other hand, life's too short. And I'm more aware of it right now than ever. From where I'm sitting, I can see books by Louise Erdrich, Gunter Grass, NK Jesmin and others waiting to be read. I want to read them. I feel like I should. But I can't read what I'm reading fast enough to get to them as fast as I want. 

I want to read everything now.

On the final hand: Life's too short. I'm going to die someday. And all this reading I've been doing ... will it die with me too? If so, what's the point?

I don't know.

But I'm going to keep reading anyway.

Coronavirus diary: Life goes on, brisket edition

My dad and his father both loved to make homemade BBQ sauce for Sunday roasts and briskets. I've never really done that. 

Today, my son made my dad's sauce recipe for Mother's Day brisket. 

I am proud and humbled.

Coronavirus diary: A letter to my son about values

Dear son:

The COVID-19 pandemic, and accompanying economic disaster, have made me think a lot about your future.

I believe that you will grow up in a tougher, meaner world than I have. It’s possible that survival, and not just self-actualization, will be the challenge that you face. Do not let this scare you: We are privileged that survival has not been a problem in my memory, nor my parents'. But people all around the world and across history have spent lifetimes much closer to the edge than we have. They have accepted the challenge and persisted — because that is what life is all about. What alternative, really, is there?

But I worry. I am a man who has made a living by talking and writing. It’s not made me rich, but for the most part I have been able to provide food and shelter on the income those skills provide. I am not sure such opportunities will be as widely available in the future. And I don’t have the experience, skills or tools to do much else. What can I teach you that will help you, practically, as you grow up and move out into this meaner world?

Your mother reminds me that we are giving you the tools to acquire those skills yourself. You’re smart, inquisitive, an obsessive reader and collector of facts. I could not be prouder of who you have already become. And I think we’ve modeled other values that we hope you’ll take on and carry through life.

Even so, I want to be explicit about the values I hope you embrace.

HONESTY: Telling the truth - even when it has a cost - is good in its own right. But there are practical reasons for embracing honesty as one. To use one, currently pertinent example: Our leaders were not honest - with us, certainly, and perhaps with themselves - about the dangers presented by the coronavirus. That failure to embrace reality, to embrace the truth, and to give that truth to the public, probably made the pandemic wider and more disastrous than it had to be.

Embrace honesty, son. Embrace the truth. 

COMPASSION: There is a temptation, during hard times, just to look out for yourself and those closest to you. It’s understandable. Nonetheless, I ask that you look for opportunities to be kindhearted to — and helpful — others. They will need your help at times. And you will need theirs. 

This is even true even when you find something detestable or off-putting. We didn’t raise you in the church. I know you’re skeptical of religion. But these verses from Matthew 5 in the Christian Bible have have stuck with me, informed my sense of what I should aspire to, even as my own faith wavered and diminished:

43You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor’ and ‘Hate your enemy.’ 44But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, 45that you may be sons of your Father in heaven. He causes His sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. 46If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Do not even tax collectors do the same? 47And if you greet only your brothers, what are you doing more than others? Do not even Gentiles do the same?

Other religious traditions — and traditions outside religion — have similar teachings. Like I say: I believe the world you encounter will be a mean place. The temptation will be to let it make you mean in response. I hope with all my heart that you can resist that temptation.

JUSTICE: I think this is a corollary to compassion. Both values recognize the humanity of people other than yourself and those closest to you — and demand, as a result, that you treat them the way you would want to be treated, that you advocate for people who are treated unfairly for any reason. When people are treated unfairly, work to help them be treated fairly.

This is an unjust world, and I suspect that it will only become more so. (Or maybe it’s just that people like us will be more exposed to and subject to its injustices.) Have the courage not to shrug at those injustices, or to take advantage of them, but to be a voice against them.

There is so much more to say about each of these ideas. I don’t think I have defined them well in this writing. I must hope that your mother is right, that you already have the skills to equip yourself with better knowledge and wisdom about what these values mean and entail.

A warning: You may find that these values are in tension with each other — that to ensure justice for one person makes it difficult to be compassionate to another, or that compassion to one person makes honesty difficult. I can’t give you a hard-and-fast rule to solve those conundrums — only: Let your conscience be your guide.

I am confident of that conscience, and of your heart. I am sorry that I cannot simply protect you from what is to come, only to prepare you as best I can. I love you, now and always,

Dad

Three ways Mike Pence's refusal to wear a mask sums up Trump-Republican ideology

More about this:

To me, this sums up Trump-Republican ideology pretty neatly, in three ways:

* Trumpist Republicans don't have to play by the rules. The president ran his 2016 on a law and order campaign, but has notoriously been the most lawless president in living memory -- and that includes Nixon. Rules are for other people, not for the powerful elites and their friends.

* Trumpist Republicans disdain those they see as "weak." The GOP’s general attitude toward the vulnerable members of society is: "I got mine, you can go to hell." Mike Pence believes he doesn't have the coronavirus, so why should he act in a way that protects others from from the disease? And he can buy health insurance, so why should Republicans worry about ensuring that poor people can afford medical care? Or food? Or anything else?

* Trumpist Republicans are willing to let those weak people shoulder the consequences of their actions. Of course, people can be asymptomatic and still spread coronavirus, which means there is a chance that Pence's refusal to wear a mask increased the chances that patients and staff at Mayo were exposed to the virus. Not a significant chance, but still. Similarly, the GOP project largely is about protecting corporations from dealing with the consequences of their actions -- which is why environmental and worker safety protections have been gutted under Trump.

Pence's refusal to wear a mask is in some ways a small act. But it speaks volumes.

About the Blue Angel flyover

I've seen a couple of Blue Angels shows in my life and found them utterly thrilling.

But.

I'm concerned that we as a country can't seem to honor hospital workers without resorting to displays of militarism. It's supposed to look strong. But it seems like it is probably a weakness.

The toxic masculinity of GOP elites

C'mon, man.

I'll wager Trump and Pence don't wear masks because they see sickness -- and concessions to it -- as weakness. That's macho strutting at its most foolish. But it's also par for the course.

Coronavirus Cinema: TOOTSIE

Three thoughts about TOOTSIE, coming up after the trailer:

* TOOTSIE is a fantasy about a bunch of New Yorkers who act like they've never seen a drag queen before.

* Sydney Pollack is one of our great directors, and you can see his command of craft here. One example: We do get a montage of Michael Dorsey's transformation into Dorothy Michaels - but not until we've already met Dorothy. Pollack is confident enough that we have Michael in one scene, cut to the next with Dorothy, and he knows the audience can follow along without a big buildup. You don't see that often.

* That said, I saw this in the theater in 1982. It was the first rom-com type movie where I was confused at the end. Dustin Hoffman's character had betrayed Jessica Lange thoroughly - and her father - and yet at the end both grudgingly accepted him back in their lives? I call bullshit.

 That's why they call it a fantasy, I guess.

Coronavirus Journal: Care and feeding

Our last meal at Cafe Lutecia in Philadelphia before
moving away in 2016. It was our home away from home.
I still miss it fiercely. We were going to visit this summer.
Now I wonder if we'll ever get to go back.

Today's lunch: Canned kidney beans and green chilies sauteed in olive oil (salt, pepper, chili powder, garlic powder added), served over brown rice with shredded cheddar and a healthy dash of Tabasco.

It's actually kind of tasty?

I'm not really a cook. But I watched SALT FAT ACID HEAT and the occasional YouTube cooking video. If I'd been smart, I'd have thrown in a piece of bacon. Next time, assuming there's still bacon in the house. Funny thing is, I'd never make that lunch for myself normally. I'd head out for something ... less healthy, in all probability.

I think I'm eating less overall. I'm curious what my blood sugar levels are going to look like at the end of this. Assuming I survive. Which I don't assume.

Coronavirus Journal: And now, a word from Czeslaw Milosz

I read this poem in the New Yorker in the early aughts -- at almost precisely the moment I was taking my leave of the church. I have tried to let it guide how I interact with people of faith since then. And I've been thinking about it lately.

These days, I have one foot in and one foot out of the church. I have always missed the community of my last congregation. I often miss the hymns. But I can't quite get myself to fully engage, either. I go back for a week or two, then disappear for months at a time. The people there still love me, oddly enough. That's God enough for me, for now.

But it's early in this crisis. They say there are no atheists in foxholes. I don't think that's actually true. I think I'm about to find out if I can survive this kind of challenge without permitting my hope to overwhelm my head. I honestly don't know. And I'm not sure that it matters. We're all about to experience PTSD -- the lucky ones among us, that is. Whatever gets us through, right?

Other notes:

* We were going to be frugal in the face of the pandemic, but really: We don't spend near as much money if we don't leave the house. We're spending a bit more on groceries, and a whole lot less on everything else. Of course, that's what's contributing to the collapse of the economy, but it's still the right thing for us to do.

Coronavirus Journal: Routines amidst despair

Cello practices continue. Today, in the garage, to the fresh air.

I've been working from home for nearly four years now, and I've never been terribly great at establishing a routine.

I'm great at meeting work deadlines. But other things -- getting out of the house, going to the gym -- I've been hit-or-miss. I always mean to get a little bit better ... tomorrow.

Now we're all at home almost all of the time, and a few routines would probably be good. For my health. My mental health. For my son and wife. Right now, though, I'm doing a worse-than-usual job.

Mostly, I can do my assigned work. And other than that, I've been spending hours each day watching social media, watching the tragedy unfold slowly and in real time.

I haven't read much, despite buying some new books. I haven't walked outside much at all. Mostly, it all takes energy devoted to witnessing the world break down. I am sleeping more deeply now than I have in years, and it takes a real fight to get awake in the morning.

But I'm trying to fight my tendency to go into a ball. For the sake of my son. For the sake of my wife.

So I've got one routine established. I'm playing one game of chess with my son each day.

Yesterday, he beat me for the first time ever. It made me happy. Life goes on.

I hope.

For more from the Coronavirus Journal, click here.

Coronavirus Journal: Is this the end?

After a year off Facebook, I broke down and went back.
Social distancing is tough for me.

So far, I'm lucky: I write a regular column for The Week, and -- for now anyway -- they're still using my services. I saw a story today that said one in five Americans had already lost their jobs or seen hours reduced because of the coronavirus crisis.

I'm lucky to still have work. But I also have to think about my work a bit differently. I've never wanted to be a hack -- I've worked hard to avoid it -- but we are at a historical moment. To have such a platform is a privilege. To "mail it in" would be sin. Especially if one considers: What if the end of my life is coming soon? The end of my career? What will my final contributions be? How will I want to be remembered?

Last night, I wrote a column. 800 words roughly. Sent it to my editors. Then I realized it was inadquate to the moment, focused on small-bore politicking instead of the big concerns that face us all.

So I withdrew the column, and wrote a whole new column. It was about something important.

I'm glad I did.

Coronavirus Journal: Thoughts and Prayers

My son has insisted we start daily family yoga for the
duration of the lockdown. He's a bit of a showoff.

I'm not much of a praying man. My theological beliefs are fuzzy, at best, and I have long believed in Huckleberry Finn's maxim: "You can't pray a lie."

But for the last couple of weeks, as it has become apparent that coronavirus would upend our lives, I've become a praying man again.

This is tricky, because I've never wanted to treat God -- or whatever name you have for whatever force there might be in the universe -- as Santa Claus. "Dear God, give me this thing that I want," seems both pointless and selfish. I want to be healthy and not lose my livelihood during this time. But so do a lot of people who have, or are about to, lose either their health or their livelihood. I'm not sure that God, to the extent God exists, works that way.

But here's the thing: I'm not in control of what's about to happen.

Coronavirus Journal: Togetherness

T and J wait for the water to boil. She is teaching
him to make macaroni and cheese. He is going to learn
a lot of self-sufficiency in the coming weeks.

When President Trump was elected, J and I hosted a brunch for crestfallen friends the following Saturday. The idea was to affirm that though a terrible thing had happened -- and I will not apologize for that sense, nor do I think we were overreacting -- we still had each other, we still had community, we were still together.

Now a new crisis has arrived, and if the medical authorities are correct, the worst thing I could do to comfort my friends at this point would be to bring them all together.

 Isolation, it seems, is the only thing that can save us.

 Or most of us.

 Except: It won't.

Yes, it will help slow the spread of the virus -- and for that reason, we're obeying the "social distancing" requirements to the extent possible -- but it also creates two new problems: Isolation, and loss of livelihoods.

We are social creatures. I've seen videos of people in Italian neighborhoods standing on their balconies, entertaining each other with music. Here in Kansas, we don't live that close to our neighbors -- enough to separate ourselves and yet still be in that kind of face-to-face contact with each other -- but I suspect we'll find ways to fight through the isolation. For many of us, this might be the greatest-ever era to be quarantined: We can still talk to each other on the phone, or video chat, or simply snark at each other and post updates on social media platforms like Facebook and Twitter.

 I'm a bit more worried about all the people I know who work in a service economy. I know of one catering service here in town that just laid off its part-time staff because all its bookings for the next two months have dried up -- it's a beloved local business that will find it challenging to survive. My local bookstore has responded to events by offering to deliver books for free to customers -- they'll drop the package off outside your front door, let you know they've arrived, and walk away. Hopefully, some businesses will survive by using that kind of creativity.

We need each other, it turns out.

Even in an age of polarization and tech-driven isolation, we need human contact. And we need, frankly, human commerce. And those things are going to be tough to come by. I fear that the loss of these things might ultimately produce suffering and deaths that the virus alone can't accomplish.

There's a real tension between all of our human needs during this crisis, is what I'm saying.

That's on the large scale. On the small scale, my wife, my son and I are stuck in a small house together for the duration. We're doing to find it difficult to get away from each other. T, now 11 years old, had already spent increasing amounts of time behind a closed door, in his room.

It appears that trend will accelerate.

He announced today: "Sometimes kids need a break from parents." Right now, he's in his room.

I get it, son. I get it.

P.S. Speaking of togetherness, there will be no church services at most Lawrence congregations tomorrow. The pastor at Peace Mennonite Church today sent along a guide to worshiping from home. Seems like an important thing to preserve.

For more from the Coronavirus Journal, click here.

Coronavirus Journal: Chapter 1

In full-blown hobo mode. All I've been able to do this week is stare at Twitter,
refresh, and stare some more, until I'm too exhausted to do anything but sleep. 

I became a journalist because I wanted to see history with my own eyes.

The realization came to me in the summer of 1989, when brave Chinese students were protesting their government at Tiananmen Square, and then paid a dear price for it. Journalists from the west showed us what was happening, live, and I knew watching it on TV that were looking at a critical moment. Being a history buff already, I set my sights on being a journalist.

Well, we're living through history now. I don't have to go to China, or New York, or anyplace else to experience it. All I have to do is sit in my home, try to keep my distance from others, and hope that me and my family don't either A) become victims of the COVID-19 pandemic, or B) unwittingly pass the virus on to somebody we love and end up killing them.

Just a couple of hours ago, President Trump finally declared a national emergency, but this journal shouldn't and won't be about him. I can write about him elsewhere. Instead, it will be about life in my home and in my community over the next weeks and months as we hunker down and try to survive -- not just the virus, but the economic fallout, and the costs of "social distancing" that we're now being asked to perform in order to slow the spread of the virus. Historians will know the other stuff. We should preserve the tales of real life for them as well. This is my humble attempt.

I'm worried. I'm worried that things will never be good again. I'm worried that I'm raising my son to become an adult in a world in which thriving is impossible, that the work of survival is difficult and mean. 

I worry I'm going to die, penniless, under a bridge, unable to provide for myself or my family.

I worry a lot.

And to be fair, I worry about some of those things even when there isn't a generation-defining pandemic before us. But I worry more, now.

Remember, though, I'm lucky: I have a wife who is more optimistic and resilient than I am. I have a smart and funny child who is going to be a nuisance to keep at home until the storm clears, but that's because he's 11 years old and full of energy and we live in a small house. And for now, we can afford to live a few months even if all our income suddenly dries up. Which -- knock knock -- I hope it doesn't.

We've stockpiled some dry goods, as far as food, but J declines to go into full hoarding mode. For one thing, she says, buying up (say) all the bulk rice at the grocery store means somebody else can't have it, and that's not fair is it? So she's not just optimistic and resilient -- she operates from a place of kindness to others.

I hope we can maintain that outlook over the next few months.

We shall see.