Just a reminder, most of my writing is really done for myself, as sort of therapy and a way to organize my thoughts. That especially applies to this piece.
I’m not that tough. I haven’t had to be. My experience with (true) adversity has been minimal. Even events that were cataclysmic didn’t really affect me personally that much. In terms of grief, I think it’s safe to say I’ve had less than my share.
I try to be aware and empathetic, so I’ve never been ignorant of world events and how they impact others; I’ve never belonged to the Libertarian school of thought that says, “If it’s not MY problem, it’s not a problem worth society taking a role in solving.”
I was in high school when President Kennedy was assassinated; I thought it was awful, but it didn’t affect me like some of my classmates (or my wife, whom I was a long way, in terms of both time and distance, from knowing at the time). I understood why people were upset at the murder of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., but its only direct impact on me was relief that the class I cut wouldn’t count against me because the professor was so distraught he cancelled it.
I legitimately failed my physical (which I took, no doctor’s note for me) after being drafted during the Vietnam War, and I darkly joked that for me to boycott classes after the Kent State massacre would have required I actually go to class. The floods in the district in which I taught were more impactful on my students than me. Student deaths are an unfortunate fact of life; I always tried to be supportive, but I felt far worse for my kids than myself. I knew that 9-11 was world changing, but I was always confident that we’d adapt and recover – and we did, even if such a recovery required redefining “normal.”
I guess what I’m saying is that none of the above were really all that personal. Even my personal grief has been generally muted and not exactly tragic. Deaths of too young friends and co-workers were sad, but not devastating. The one unexpected death that I did grieve faded and didn’t resurface until well after the event itself, sitting with my wife having a drink, when the tears blew in like a summer storm. But like a storm, they, too, passed quickly and my life returned to normal.
But this feels different. This C-19 pandemic doesn’t seem like a temporary inconvenience, but more of a permanent upheaval in life as we know it, or at least I know it. Maybe things will truly get better, but at the moment I have almost no hope of an only slightly modified new normal, like 9-11. And I don’t feel well positioned to deal with it. Not tough enough, if you will.
Part of that is based on my complete lack of confidence in the president of my country. I didn’t feel that way after 9-11. I’ve never felt this way, and I’ve lived under 11 previous presidents of both parties, 10 of whom I remember with some, if varying degrees of, clarity. I may not have been happy with the country’s direction or presidential leadership, but I viewed those administrations like I viewed some of the school administrators for whom I worked: “I’ll be here after you’re gone.”
Congress, with its obsession on tribal victories, is only a little better. That toxic combo of presidential incompetence and irresponsibility and tribal, winner take all, congressional warfare, is just part of the problem, though.
Another part, and related to my lack of confidence in the chief executive, is that mitigation compliance has become political, almost perverse. “If I support Trump, I must oppose any action to tamp down the pandemic. If I support Trump, attempts at mitigation are a plot against his re-election.” Interestingly this has even become a bit separated from political party; in Missouri there’s a protest planned against a Republican governor who was late to the party and an unenthusiastic guest but eventually joined in issuing a “Stay at Home” order.
Right now the disease is winning, even if far too many people are in denial, which threatens to make it even worse. I have little hope of a return to my comfortable, privileged life, and I, myself, am so much better off than people who are truly suffering, who have lost not just livelihoods but loved ones. For perhaps the first time since my early 20s, when I sort of enjoyed wallowing in negativity and angst, I am struggling to channel my inner Polyanna.
Perfectly stated, Mr. Berndt. I think the thing you have lost is the sense of hope. We see the failure of our president and elected officials. We see them openly ignore fact, science, morality, and decency. This has chipped away at our collective psyche for three years. The impact of Covid-19 will remain for decades. It shows no mercy, strikes all classes and few are in better position than others to avoid infection. Beyond the infection, there is the social and economic impact, at a time when we need the comfort of others and of normalcy, we instead face isolation and potential economic ruin. Personally, I find comfort in the goodness I see. I see nurses doing amazing work. I see people appreciating time together, going on walks, taking time to see spring unfold. I see friends exploring painting, reading, puzzles and family game nights. I see people cooking meals and eating dinner together. I see the values we’ve had as a family, extending to our friends who were too “busy” before. Family dinner was an anomaly, in my middle stepdaughter’s class, only 2 other families had regular sit-down dinners together. That’s in a class of 32. I do see good, at least in the short term. People will forget, just as we praised police after 9/11, eventually they were the enemy following Ferguson. Much will change, not for the better but I do hope you can find comfort and peace in observing the goodness around us rather than the ignorance, partisanship, and ugliness. I hope you and your family are well!
ReplyDeleteAngela Follen (née Hobbs)