The Only Way Forward is Through

It is easy to feel panicked, overwhelmed, hopeless, heart attack-y.

I do, whenever I watch too much news these days. Or as the work emails flood my inbox, tidal waving me with the edge of discernible panic in my colleagues' communications as we realize - will this work? Oh, you don't know either? Is leadership already thinking budget cuts? Would they cut ME? How much cash do I have - what if I lose my home?!?!

And beyond my direct Maslovian needs, there are of course the beyond-me cares and concerns: do my elderly parents have enough frozen chicken breasts to stay home this week? Is it safe for me to drive to their house with an iPad, so they can Skype me and my siblings? What if I'm carrying around a virus which I doubtfully but maybe caught when I went to support my local pizzeria by buying take-out but I don't  know who touched the door before me and I noticed no one was sanitizing the door handle...

Etc. etc.

It is a scary time. Basic questions of security - health, shelter and food - is on pause for nearly everyone on the planet - and fuck, that's a spooky thought.

I can't get around that.

But after a few deep breaths,  I wonder: do I actually need to?

I am not a natural optimist. My totem animal is more a Debby Downer type, quasi-professionally molded for 41 years by my dad (who, when I suggested he download Skype, said "Yes, I thought about it when my friend lived in Thailand, but then he died." Full stop. Somewhere, a wah-wah horn blared).

With deep apologies to the news, I can't help but notice that my immediate reality in most ways... is not actually all that bad. 

As in... perhaps I need not dwell on this insurmountable mess quite as much as my animal brain, reacting to the cultural collective of everyone's twitchy little lobes, thinks it has to. And maybe, just possibly, there are some good things going on in the face of the modern age's first global pandemic. For example:

- People have been so kind this week. I work as a fundraiser with foundations, which is probably the most 'stiff upper lip' type of job you can have in the non-profit world. Like, I write a lot of "Dear Sir or Madam" type of emails; I work within clear power imbalances that require a lot of diplomacy and lines in the sand we all dutifully pretend aren't there. But this week it's changed: it's been funders reaching out to me with a "Hey there Valerie, I'm sending you good vibes". Which is so awesome that little tears form behind my eyeballs every time it happens. In a time when money not coming through the door will spell disaster for maybe your mission but probably-definitely your own job security, it really means a lot - to simply be treated as a person. Recognizing that people are people, and we would actually like to help each other out, so we get to discard pretense for a little bit. We can just do our best to be kind to each other - knowing things are tough and scary for us all. I am really heartened to see people truly at their best.

- Random strangers are smiling and talking to me. Like, uh, everyone - I'm working from home and keeping a small perimeter of movement. I run anyway, so I've been doing my jogs around my 3-mile route. Usually, the general rule of Portland is: avoid eye contact, pretend to be really interested in the trees or sidewalk, basically ignore everyone around you. I guess as a woman it's just my mechanism to avoid stranger danger. But this week - it's cool?  People are smiling, waving hello, even chatting from three to six feet away - I talked to some rando-dude two blocks away about roof ridge vents. Not the norm, but also very pleasant. Weirdly comforting to know - we all know wtf is going on and we all are lacking our regular sense of human connection. It is so nice to talk to a new face, hell, to SEE a new face that is, like mine, enjoying fresh air and sunshine.

- People are outside. Outside! Some of my neighbors set up card tables in their lawn so they can talk to their neighbors on THEIR lawn. With beer. Living in an urban neighborhood, this is blowing my mind. I might actually learn the names of the humans around me? I mean... jesus, finally?

- I'm sure the planet is like, "Wow, why do I feel so good? Is it because people have stopped poisoning me with gasoline fumes from their pointless commutes, when THIS WHOLE TIME you could have been working from home? Also are Coachella fans not throwing millions of pounds of plastic into me because they forgot their goddamn water bottle? Yes, I think it is. I hope humans learn something from all this."

- Grocery stores are stocked, you guys. There is actual food in them. People have done their weird hoarding and now you can get chicken, apple sauce, and garlic, which are the most important things. This was occupying a lot of mental real estate so my last grudging trip to Freddy's was greatly improved by the realization/reminder - things will be okay.

- I'm going to be in great fucking shape soon. I already subscribed to at-home workout stuff, but because I spend 40 hours in an office and like 6 hours commuting every week, I never have the energy or time to actually take advantage of them. All that wasted time hanging around the office kitchen, unable to do anything but eat donuts? Now I go on a 30-minute run. Or I do a 30 minute barre class or hit up some yoga. I will be ripped!

- ART. Books, art, creativity. All freely available. All keep you busy and engaged. You don't have to stay at home watching Netflix; now is the time to learn the banjo! People could come out of this with some amazing skills! Kids may get to make way more music and art and stories than they ever could have in modern history!!!

I like to think of my life as at its best when it's most like 1945 anyway - eating real (not processed) food, making real things (like art or poetry), and enjoying the company and care of real people (not strangers I've never met who appear on any kind of digital screen). 

I realize that to those who have been immediately and negatively impacted (aka service industry friends) or people whose health puts them in a more vulnerable place, this viewpoint may stink like stinky privilege. I'm sorry I can't take on everyone's point of view at this moment in time. I know there's pain, I know I might very well look back on this in 6 months time from my own cardboard box by the river and think, "What a naive white bitch!" as I fight my fellow hobos for the last scrap of dog.  

But if my weird forays into Buddhism and witchery have taught me anything, it is this: life will go on. Do what you can to get grounded. Remember to pick your head up and out of the collective fear; it's not actually serving you. Be grateful, now, for what you have. Count out the good things. They are real, and they will multiply if you give them mental real estate. With practice, your scared little animal brain will take some solace in this. That's the miracle of neuroscience. 

Businesses will close but others will take their place. There will be legislation and aid packages to help the for-profit sector, and I hope to god the non-profit sector, too (it's just complex and in progress, so not as sexy for the news to cover). It's not all hopeless.

Maybe people will start urban farming. Maybe more of us will work from home, winning back some life-work balance and lessening our dependence on scarce environmental resources. Maybe people will rediscover the beauty of living like it's 1945. I dunno. I hope so.