Existential Angst

It’s been another long, strange and stressful week.  There are more to come. While I am hopeful that “this too shall pass”, I am trying to prepare myself emotionally and physically for what I anticipate will be a very difficult next few months.  The news is bad.  Though most will survive this plague, far too many will not. 

Before there was Covid, I took much for granted.  I never thought twice about going to the barber or going out to eat.  No more.  Now it’s home haircuts and home cooking.  It used to be easy going grocery shopping.  No more.  Now, our food is delivered and before it comes through the door it is wiped down and disinfected.  I never worried about spending an afternoon at the lake fishing.  No more.  It’s not worth it.  I’m too busy watching everybody else at the lake, hoping they don’t spit, cough, or violate my six-foot space.

The days have a different pace, a much slower pace.  I have lots of time to read and to write, but so far, I’ve really done very little of either. Humorous memes shared by friends and family are a welcome relief from the day’s routine.  Calls from the kids and grandkids are another welcome respite from the long hours, but the calls are bittersweet, reminders of our forced separation and reminders that they too are feeling the vulnerability.

To pass the time, my wife and I are doing something we haven’t done for thirty years, a 1,000-piece jigsaw puzzle.  Altogether, I would guess we’ve put together 300 of the pieces. 700 to go.  We’ve got plenty of time to get it done.  There is something immensely therapeutic about transforming the chaos of 1,000 random pieces into a complete coherent picture, no matter how long or how difficult.

Next week, via Zoom, I'll resume teaching philosophy to the psychiatry residents.  Given what’s going on, the topic will be Existentialism.  One principle of existentialism is freedom, the freedom to choose the attitude with which we face our circumstances.  Another principle of existentialism is meaning, our potential to live authentic and meaningful lives.  However, the core of existentialism and the source of existential angst, is the inescapable reality of mortality.  Our lives are fragile, and our days are few.  And should we happen to forget this inconvenient truth, we need only turn on the news.

I often think about a joke told to me by a friend back in Junior High, a joke I now think of as Existentialism 101.  A wise man was asked by his young pupil, “Tell me father, what is the death rate in this part of the country?”  The wise man did not answer right away, but instead consulted books of ancient lore and wisdom.  Finally, after several weeks of study and contemplation he returned to his pupil.  “Son, the death rate in this part of the country is one per person.”

Because a Little Bug Went Ka-Choo

“One fine summer morning a little bug sneezed.  Because of that sneeze a little seed dropped.”  And from the dropping of that seed came a series of connected happenings that changed everything, “Because . . . just because . . . a small bug went Ka-Choo!”

Because a Little Bug Went Ka-Choo is the ultimate ‘what-if’ story.  Who hasn’t looked back on their life and been amazed how one small incident, one decision, one action, changed history forever.  What-if I hadn’t gone out on a blind date 37 years ago?  I look at my children and my grandchildren, knowing that their lives all connect to that blind date, as do the lives of their spouses and their spouses’ families, and so on and so on.  The impact of that date 37 years ago, that ka-choo, continues to send out ripples into the world and the world is forever changed.

Written by Rosetta Stone, a.k.a. Dr. Seuss, Because a Little Bug Went Ka-Choo is a remarkable book and not only for children.  In its own clever way, the story poignantly and humorously illustrates many essential truths.  The little actions of everyday life can have enormous consequences. The actions of little people can have enormous consequences.   The actions of any one person can have a great impact upon many others.  We are all connected.  What we do matters.

In these difficult days, Because a Little Bug Went Ka-Choo is especially poignant.  May I suggest a slight modification of the story?  “One fine spring morning a little bug sneezed.  Because he covered his mouth, washed his hands for twenty seconds, and practiced social distancing, no germs were spread, the curve flattened, and that changed everything.  Because . . . just because . . . a small bug went Ka-Choo!”

COVID-19

“Although the world is full of suffering, it is full also of the overcoming it.”       (Helen Keller, 1880--1968)

Eerie.  Unreal.  Crazy.  I’m looking for the right adjective to describe what’s happening.  From last week to this, everything has changed.  The world is under siege.  Daily life is radically altered and I’m struggling to get a handle on it.

I watch the news closely trying to sort out which precautions are essential and which, if any, are excessive.  Which are based in logic and reason and which in fear?  I am at high risk, and I take this pandemic very seriously.  I understand that we must try to avoid here what is happening in Italy.  I understand that we must ‘flatten the curve’ so that the health care system won’t be overwhelmed.

Just to get out of the house, I got in the car and drove around.  Stores were quiet and most restaurants were closed.  There were a few cars in the drive-throughs at McDonald’s and Freddy’s.  There were a few cars getting gas, the price having fallen to $1.94.  There were lots of cars in front of the grocery stores, and the parking lot at Costco looked like the day before Christmas.

Fortunately, due to my wife’s foresight, we are well provisioned.  We’ve got plenty of food and toilet paper.  And my kids continue shopping for us bringing additional groceries, as needed.

I now sleep-in later than usual.  I get up, drink a cup of coffee and watch morning T.V.  I read.  I eat a large late lunch and a small dinner, all the while getting used to eating at home.  The indoor pool at my apartment complex has closed.  For exercise, I ride my stationary bike for an hour each afternoon.  When the weather allows, I get outside and walk keeping an appropriate social distance from other fellow walkers.  At night I either read, play my guitar, or watch some more T.V.

One of my hobbies, playing poker, is out of the question.  Sitting in close quarters at the casino with nine other players, passing back and forth filthy poker chips, isn’t an option.  I do go to the lake and fish.  That’s been my most life-normalizing activity.  However, the weather’s been uncooperative, and the fish aren’t yet biting.

It was announced yesterday that my grandchildren’s schools will be closed for the remainder of the year.  Their parents must now figure out just what that will mean regarding schedules, activities and home-schooling demands.  My children are well equipped to handle this challenge, but I fear for many who are not.

My youngest child is on the front lines, an internist in Omaha specializing in geriatric care.  She was asked by a worried family member if she could take a leave of absence from work.  She replied that was out of the question. That would be like a soldier deserting on the eve of battle.  I am proud of her for her sense of duty and her courage.  I hope she remembers, that in battle, a good soldier remains vigilant and avoids unnecessary risks.