Community, Compassion, Cooperation

Please forgive me if this post isn’t as polished as you might like. It certainly is not as polished as I would like.

I wanted to put it out there into the world, though, as it occurred to me. This is something that I’ve been thinking about a great deal especially in the last few days.

COVID-19 has shown quite a few flaws in our social systems. I could go on about healthcare, scarcity, people with such low incomes that they cannot afford to miss weeks of work, children who will not get a meal of schools are closed, and a number of other things, but I am choosing one focal point here.

Community.

In the last few days I have, by necessity, gone to the grocery store. My particular market is not a large one. It is usually quite well stocked, and often not terribly busy. I know all of the staff members there, and they greet me like a friend. Even on days when leaving the house seems like an enormous chore, a burden that I cannot bear to carry, I can go to my Publix. They have always been wonderful to me.

Today when I went the parking lot was full.  Beyond full. People were circling. At the moment I have the use of a handicapped parking placard, but it did me no good. I had to simply take whichever space opened up first. Lucky for me, one opened up only three or four spaces away.

Walking with a cane is awkward.  I can only imagine how those with worse handicaps than mine are handling these crowded conditions.

I sat down on a motorized scooter and went about my business inside. It was strange, the things that were completely sold out. Bananas? Really? Plenty of other fruits - oranges, apples, grapes, and berries galore. Plenty of fresh vegetables. But no bananas. How odd. 

The rice and pasta were almost entirely gone. Macaroni and cheese, Ramen, wiped out. No toilet paper. No facial tissue. Paper towels running low. Absolutely no bread to be found. Well, not quite true, I did find one loaf hiding at the back of the bottom shelf where almost no one could see it. I suspect I only noticed it because I was sitting on a scooter, and not standing tall. I had to reach down and back to get it as it huddled shivering against the wall. Poor, lonely, a little loaf of bread. No hamburger buns. No hotdog buns. No buns of any kind. The only bread-type items remaining were English muffins and bagels, and I suspect those will be gone by tomorrow.  Tortillas were plentiful, but will likely be gone on a day or two.

As I rolled through the store, trying to wait patiently for other shoppers to continue down the aisles so that I could as well, the crowds intrigued me. Even during pre-holiday shopping season I have never seen so many people in the store!  A few shoppers seemed to be considering their purchases carefully, but more appeared to be grabbing whatever fell under their eye as possibly useful.  

I’m belaboring the point, I know, but I found it shocking.

The sense of urgency, bordering on panic, was palpable.

And now for the thought that this inspired.

If we were a compassionate, caring, cooperative society, I don’t think we’d be having this problem right now. Yes, we’d be worried about this illness sweeping the globe. I’m not trying to downplay the seriousness of this. COVID-19 is nothing to play with. It’s more the fear of scarcity of which I speak.

I don’t think this semi-panic would be occurring if we were confident that our friends, family, and neighbors would all help look out for us as we would help look out for them. If we were a connected community, I don’t believe we’d be afraid of running out of toilet paper or going hungry even (potentially) under a two-week quarantine.

We would, instead, be confident that if we run out of something, someone, somewhere would step up and help us out, as we would help them under the same circumstances.

Instead, we are a nation of isolated souls living in crowded neighborhoods. We don’t know each other. Maybe we don’t want to know each other. We lock ourselves in our homes and remain separate. My neighbor doesn’t know that she can come to me for help if she needs groceries, or some other form of aid. She doesn’t know that I will give her a ride somewhere if the need arises. She doesn’t know that if they run out of something, she can knock on my door and ask, and if I have it I will give.

This lack of connection is what will do is in, in the end.  We are cells in a body, but we are cells each struggling in our individual ways and not working together to keep the body whole.

I find it distressing.

That separateness is what works very well for politicians, who seek to continue to divide us even as we struggle with a crisis. Politics as usual, fingers pointing, blame doled out, denial, denial, denial. Fight over doing what is simply right. Each side telling the other how wrong that they are, calling things a hoax, calling things an emergency, saying this side doesn’t care and that side wants to take away from you and give to another.

Meanwhile, those of us down here at the bottom of the power pyramid are struggling. When we reach out to help others, sometimes we’re punished, sometimes marginalized, on occasion lauded, but rarely are we recognized as simply being decently human.

Even monkeys take care of the entire troupe. They take care of those at the top and those at the bottom. The least popular monkey is still not going to be eaten by a predator because regardless of their place within the troupe, they are still a member. The troupe takes care of its own.

How is it that we can’t do something that even monkeys do?

You can see from the above that I am fumbling with these thoughts, these ideas. It’s difficult for me to boil it down, to place it in a nutshell. For me personally, it is a huge idea. It is a big deal. I see my fellow humans struggling, and my instinct is to reach out and offer a hand. I may not be the strongest member of society, but I don’t think I’m the weakest either.

I have something to offer, whether it be a ride somewhere, an extra bag of rice, or reassuring word and a warm, comforting smile.

If the least of us strive to have something to offer, why can’t those considered the greatest of us do the same?

If the least of us felt confident that they would be taken care of in times of great need, I believe we would be a stronger society as a whole.

If everyone knew, absolutely knew, that they would be taken care of, that the web would catch them, that they would not fall very far before society grabbed hold and held them up, how much better off would we be?

I truly believe that we would not have empty shelves that used to hold paper goods. That we would not have empty shelves that used to hold rice, or pasta. That we would not have people in grocery stores around the nation, around the world, fighting over resources, if we weren’t afraid of running out because we knew that we would take care of each other.

Whatever happened to cause this sense of separateness, this aloneness, isolation even in cities and crowded places, it is now showing it self to be devastating. The feeling of being on our own, unable to rely on our fellows, will destroy us faster than any virus can.

I apologize if this seems to be scattered, lengthy, or completely incoherent. It is simply a thought that has been rattling around inside my head, and I felt the need to get it out.

COVID-19, for me, is more than a virus. It is an opportunity to see where I need to reach out a little more, where I need to connect a little better, where I need to reassure, to show compassion and kindness, to show love.  If nothing else, I can drive to reinforce my part of the web. It is my hope that many others will do the same, and that we will emerge on the other side of this a little stronger for it.

So...how can I help?

Paranoia, Pandemic, Panic

Paranoia, Pandemic, Panic

I have paranoia.  It’s mild, as these things go, and oddly specific - I’m convinced that people see me and whisper cruelly, judgmentally, laughing at how fat, how ungainly, how poorly put together and ridiculous I look.  They whisper and giggle and watch me bumble through life and thank their deities that they aren’t me.  

Along that vein, Paranoia also tells me that people wish I would just.  shut.  up.  No one wants to hear it, no one cares, good grief would I please be quiet and better yet, go away?

I’m not worried that anyone is out to get me.  Instead, I know that people are judging me and finding me wanting in every way.

It’s the nature of the beast, and I struggle to gentle it - it’ll never be tame.

Then there’s panic.  Not like panic attacks or generalized fear (which are horrid in and of themselves), but more like targeted, herd panic.  Y2K was a struggle against myself.  Daily I had to tell myself not to give in to the hysteria.  The quiet voice of reassurance in my mind told me we’d be ok, but it was nearly drowned out by the noisy jangling of fear mongers and conspiracy theorists.  I avoided a tinfoil hat and a bunker, but it’s possible I stocked up on a few things, just in case.

These days, it’s COVID19.  Conflicting reports from experts in epidemiology, medical professionals, people inside the afflicted areas, combined with a media feeding frenzy, are saturating my world and poking the bear.  I’m fighting the rising tide of “Omg, I’m going to die because I’m older, fat, at risk, not worth saving!” created by tales of overwhelmed hospitals, sick staff treating sicker patients, limited resources quickly running out, and having to decide who to spend those resources on, who gets the respirator and who will have to wait.

Believe it or not, I’m high risk for complications if I catch this monster.  I know, right?  I meet several of the criteria for higher fatality risk.  Go, me.  I’m low priority on the treatment scale, though - middle-aged, non-productive, I don’t do or make anything necessary to society (by current standards) and am not considered terribly valuable in the grand scheme.  If a choice has to be made, it’s unlikely I’d make the cut.  Superfluous, me.  So there’s that.

Then there’s the concern over every day things like food, water, daily medications.  Stock up.  Don’t stock up.  Panic.  Don’t panic.  Wear a mask and gloves.  Don’t wear a mask and gloves.  It’s in the air, no, it’s on surfaces, no, it’s transmitted by touch.  It can survive for long periods without a host, no, it cannot.

The quiet voice reminds me that we have food and water in preparation for short-to-medium term disasters, and because of how Mom and I both regularly shop in bulk, enough toilet paper and paper towels for half the year.  We might run out of laundry detergent in a month, but if we WERE quarantined and had to stay home, we could just go nekkid so no laundry, right?  I have a backstock of some medication and enough of other meds to get me through a month before I really need a refill or rationing.  I am part of a large and widespread community in which we all help and support each other.  We will, together, be ok.

Poor quiet voice, trying so hard.

The cacophony is rising over the whisper, pushing the panic button, pounding on it with hammers, screaming at me to...what?  Act blindly, run this way and that, hoard, isolate, hide, hide, hide!

So easy to give in.  I’m tired, depression has its teeth deep into me, I hurt all the time; giving  in to the paranoia would make for a nice, destructive distraction.  But I can’t.  Kids, cats, Mom, friends, they’d get caught in the periphery.  It’s not right to inflict this on them...and grasping that sense of loverightnesscommunity helps me keep from letting go, dropping off the cliff, and landing with a resounding splat.

My armor in this war is simple - research coupled with faith.  Study, learn, ask, filter, process, repeat often.  Believe - in myself, in my ability to learn and adapt, in the people whom I love and who love me, in the basic decency nestled in every soul, in my immune system and my body’s remarkable ability to overcome and recover, and, yes, in my deities.  It’s flimsy armor, but it has worked in the past and it’s all I have, so I’ll use it.  I will survive.  WE will survive.

I.  Will. Not.  Panic. 

Now, where’s that tin foil?