The Administration’s handling of Coronavirus 2019 goes kinda like this: You take your car to the garage for an oil change. After running a few complimentary diagnostics the lead mechanic comes out and tells you that your brake pads are down to 9% and will fail soon, and that you have a leaky fuel injector which could ignite if the vehicle is driven. As you’re about to sign the contract to have the work done the co-owners come out. One smiles and says your car doesn’t really need any work right now and the other one says you’ll be fine if you just believe.
I heard that we are all in the same boat, but it’s not like that. We are in the same storm, but not in the same boat. Your ship could be shipwrecked and mine might not be. Or vice versa.
For some, quarantine is optimal. A moment of reflection, of re-connection, easy in flip flops, with a cocktail or coffee. For others, this is a desperate financial & family crisis.
For some, their work life has been stressful, sad and draining both physically and emotionally. It has shown them the difficulties and horrors of this pandemic. While others feel “it’s what you signed up for”
For some that live alone they’re facing endless loneliness. While for others it is peace, rest & time with their mother, father, sons & daughters.
With the $600 weekly increase in unemployment some are bringing in more money to their households than they were working. Others are working more hours for less money due to pay cuts or loss in sales.
Some families of 4 just received $3400 from the stimulus while other families of 4 saw $0.
Some were concerned about getting a certain candy for Easter while others were concerned if there would be enough bread, milk and eggs for the weekend.
Some want to go back to work because they don’t qualify for unemployment and are running out of money. Others want to kill those who break the quarantine.
Some are home spending 2-3 hours/day helping their child with online schooling while others are spending 2-3 hours/day to educate their children on top of a 10-12 hour workday.
Some have experienced the near death of the virus, some have already lost someone from it and some are not sure if their loved ones are going to make it. Others don’t believe this is a big deal.
Some have faith in God and expect miracles during this 2020. Others say the worst is yet to come.
So, friends, we are not in the same boat. We are going through a time when our perceptions and needs are completely different.
Each of us will emerge, in our own way, from this storm. It is very important to see beyond what is seen at first glance. Not just looking, actually seeing.
We are all on different ships during this storm experiencing a very different journey. Be kind, always.
A while back I was a rep for an investment company. We’d schedule appointments and meet with people to try to get them to buy our stuff. I did this for about six months. We had a script we’d run through, and sort of adapt to the person we were talking to. The schpiel took about two hours. Early on, they’d pair us up with a more experienced coworker to go out to our appointments. Sometimes we’d get the sale. A lot of the time we didn’t.
One of the guys I worked with was good at talking with people, but his “confidence” out-paced his impulse control sometimes. He didn’t do this on any of my appointments, but I heard about him getting frustrated with a prospective client and telling the man, “You’re gonna die broke!”
I remember being rather puzzled at that. We’ve all heard the phrase, ‘You can’t take it with you.’ It was a stupid thing to say. Maybe on a rare occasion a broker might be able to insult their way into a sale by guilting a client, who’d said no, into investing. I doubt it happens very often. The statement is usually a “last word” dropped by someone who can’t accept their own failure at an encounter.
But what does that mean, to ‘die broke?’ It sounds like another idle phrase that people throw around that goes unexamined, like the way people talk about someone not having a ‘pot to piss in.’
In our post-modern times of finance and accounts, and everything having a price tag, it could mean that the client won’t be leaving anything to family. It could also mean that the client won’t have enough savings to pay for their final arrangements. This is what happens quite often.
But let’s look into it’s possible history. The other phrase I mentioned, about people being so poor they didn’t have a pot to piss in goes back centuries to the time when people collected urine to sell to the tanner. Urine was used to tan leather. It had value. It was worth not just spilling on the ground. If you didn’t even have that much means you were in a pretty bad place in the culture.
Dying broke may have meant that you had nothing to give to the ferryman, Charon. Those who cared for the dead placed a coin on the eyes or mouth of the deceased as payment for their passage across the rivers of the underworld to Hades.
I’m the one who thinks of this stuff. I doubt my boisterous and loud former colleague, from several presidents back, had any idea that this was an implication of what he was saying.
are what move the world.
I thought I was “okay,” for years, for decades…until I realized that I wasn’t. And that had to be okay.
My grandfather had a nervous breakdown in 1962 from exposure to polishes and solvents he was working with and from badly-handled grief from losing his 18-year-old son in 1944. I was born in 1963, and I never got to know the man who raised my mother and aunt. He spent time in the state hospital and underwent electroshock therapy. Afterwards he was on drugs to manage his mental state for the rest of his life. He spent some time years later in a psych ward. I was 9 or 10, I think. Then he had to go back in for a while a few years later.
The idea I got from seeing those places was that I never wanted to end up there, and along with that, I thought that psychiatrists (I didn’t know about psychologists then) were the people who put you there. That there might be a reason for it was something that I didn’t spend a lot of time considering. As a result, my thoughts on therapy, for most of my life, were “HARD PASS.” I thought that I’d say the wrong thing and end up somewhere, and not be able to get out. So I developed the idea that I was in good shape mentally and didn’t need counseling.
Enter 1983 and Christianity, and an episode of the 700 Club (I watched this I kind of stuff early on) where Pat Robertson had some “expert” on who said that psychologists, by profession, were serving evil, and Pat threw in a 2¢ summary that a Christian psychologist was the same as a Christian witch-doctor. I now felt justified in my aversion to therapy. And that stayed with me for the rest of my time in the church.
As a Christian when I would struggle with something, people would verse-vomit and tell me to rely on dubious, and very badly explained things like the “Mind of Christ” and the comfort of the Holy Spirit. I never trusted that because I did not understand how it was supposed to work.
Being laid off from a job I had held for over 17 years placed me in some rather uncertain work situations, then selling my house and moving compounded the stress that I was dealing with. After a few episodes of rage at pretty manageable things, a friend pointed out that my problem had to do with stress and not the things in front me. So late in 2017 I found a therapist. There’s a lot to unpack, and losing my dad in June of 2018 only added more.
Your brain is an organ. It processes information. And when too much bad information overwhelms it, there are effects that you may not notice or be able to simply bounce off of like they’re of no regard. Recognizing that and seeking help for it is not a sign of weakness.
Pretending nothing is wrong is the weak move.
As a former election judge in Austin during the 2000 General Election, I can state from my own observation that voters can be stupid. It was November. It was raining and the temperature was around 48-52. My poling place was an apartment complex office/club house. We had 200 people in the space wrapped around twice. It was taking over an hour to get people through the line. I locked the door at 7pm and announced to the room that the polls were closed and anyone outside the building was not allowed to vote. We got everyone voted and out by 8pm. About 8:30 a guy who I had seen leave the place came knocking on the door. I told him the polls were closed and he couldn’t vote. He said he went to another precinct and they wouldn’t let him vote. I said I was sorry about that but each location is by precinct and the polls closed at 7pm. He got pissed and started yammering about “rights” and threatened to call my superiors the next day. I said, “That’s fine,” and he left.
…I will simply smile and remember that there are birds.