I’m on antivirals for covid. My symptoms abated drastically. I went running this morning, something I haven’t done in a while. Maybe not the smartest thing to do, but being smart isn’t on the radar like it should be.
I’ve tested negative twice now, which puts into question when I actually “started” having it.
I offered to get anyone who might have been exposed a covid test for their own peace of mind. My employer doesn’t offer them. It’d be nice if they did, but we have great insurance.
On the other hand, as I’ve mentioned, many people just don’t test, even after a known exposure. We’re exposed a lot by those who have no symptoms and have no idea they are covid-positive. Since we don’t wear masks or practice social distancing, every single day is a crapshoot.
Every single person who shares your space or air could be infectious.
Saying you’re being safe while being social is, well, impossible.
Until now, if I were in close contact with a known positive case, I would test three or four days afterward. I realized that a lot of people were simply going about their routines without testing their symptoms and not getting boosters, and we’ve abandoned the behaviors that at least slowed the infection rate.
Some don’t even test when they have symptoms. “Why bother?” they ask. It’s their choice to test for their own benefit or for those around them.
We can’t do much about people who think they might have it and don’t test – and then go about their regular lives.
Compulsory testing doesn’t happen anywhere in my world.
Up until now, I tested more frequently than anyone else I personally know. That’s true. I wanted to know if I might be infecting other people, even if I didn’t have symptoms.
I’ve had five shots.
I was not going to be one of those people who were worried about getting covid unless I was certain I was not also giving it to others.
I’m glad I did that. It was the responsible thing to do.
And so, since masks aren’t required, shots aren’t generally mandated, nor is social distancing, testing has lost much of its practicality.
If anyone could have it, how do you protect yourself from that?
I’ll continue to get future boosters and vaccines, but the ritual of testing is over for me.
I’ve been alone in the wilderness in that regard, at least in my bubble.
I’ll be safe and keep the safety of others in mind, of course.
But my previous behavior doesn’t make much sense if most of us aren’t doing it.
I can be simple: “While the biological cause of covid is a virus, it only spreads because our social nature is embedded in us. There’s no cure for that, and if there were, it would be our end.” – X
I’ve taken each covid shot and booster as soon as it’s available. The science is clear: getting them reduces the likelihood of a more pronounced case if you get infected. We fought the same reluctance with the flu shot prior to covid’s arrival. Our contrary nature bedevils us, but it also keeps things interesting. I look at some people’s aversion to science or vaccinations differently than I once did. It’s not a question of intelligence; of that, I am completely sure.
It’s still true that a large number of people who are infected are asymptomatic. During the colder months, many people will think they have a cold or allergies. It’s often covid. Many people with symptoms ignore them – and that’s okay. Really. Whether they have misconceptions about the efficacy of covid shots, engage in conspiratorial theories about covid’s effects and origins, or simply see that it’s going to be around for a long time, it’s not irrational to feel that way. A lot of people just go on about life, and they either get better or don’t. We all rely on one another to keep each other safe, but our actions are always realized as individuals.
Studies that randomly test people reaffirm that at any given time, a lot of people test positive for covid whether they have symptoms or not. Each of these people comes into contact with hundreds of people daily, their spider web or potential exposures growing exponentially.
For most employers, masks have disappeared. In public? The same.
And that’s okay.
We are only as strong or as safe as our weakest link. That link? It’s all of us, unable to live our lives with love and seeing that we are so interconnected that any improvements or cures require all of us to actively work for it. We can’t even stop wars, so it’s no surprise that a medical emergency could have derailed us. Hell, we can’t even get a lot of people to use turn signals. On the other hand, the surprise of seeing where they decide to go at the last second is often a beautiful Pandora’s box.
Statistically speaking, you will be around many people who expose you to covid. There’s not much you can do. Knowing many people who undertook considerable change to limit their exposure – and got it anyway – I don’t want to sound like a pessimist. With covid, it’s obvious you can do everything right and still fail and get it. Watching people go about their day substantially proves we’re not doing everything right. Yes, that includes me, but I recognize my own grasp of known science compared to the practicality of attempting to limit a disease that lies at the crux of being social.
I had covid not too long ago, and then I got my fifth covid shot. Yesterday, I woke up to sniffles. I felt like a million dollars, which I characterize as feeling like I’m a human battery. I checked my temperature and found I had a fever. The sniffles worsened, so I tested after work.
Yes, covid positive again.
Maybe I shouldn’t have tested. Many don’t. It’s no worse than not testing regularly or having a nationalized system to randomly monitor unknown infections. I know how that sounds, written that way. But it’s a lesson I have learned pragmatically and in observance of a couple of years of real human behavior. I would not want to knowingly infect someone else. That recognition should be contrasted with people’s decisions not to get shots, or to test, or to attribute their symptoms (or lack of, for that matter) to allergies, a cold, or just feeling tired. Not everyone is lucky enough to work somewhere where they don’t lose a piece of their paycheck if they test positive. As for me, I’d much rather be at work, around people, and contributing. It’s certain that as covid continues, our policies will change as the cold compresses into smaller spaces sharing the same air. Practicality will bend policy, just as it did when covid jumped up and caught us unprepared. Lord, the things we did!
The psychology of people is what fascinates me. They worry about covid yet actively work and walk in public without masks, social distancing, etc. They grocery shop and attend events wherein large groups of people participate. Even if you are actively engaging in behavior that limits your exposure, it is a certainty that you are being exposed repeatedly. At work. At the convenience store. At the theater, sporting events, and concerts. If you’re not testing regularly, you may have had it and been an exposure yourself. Any behavior that puts you into contact with people is a potential exposure, not just the ones you know of due to a covid test. If you’re not testing regularly (which isn’t really practical on a national level), you’re only able to feel like you haven’t infected anyone simply because you are unaware.
In my case, I tested much more frequently than anyone else I know. Not because I was afraid of covid, but because I wanted to feel confident that I was not the source – and that it seemed like the right thing to do absent a system that encouraged all of us to do so. I did the best I could to cure my ignorance as to whether I might be spreading it. Because I sure as hell wasn’t limiting my social behavior as covid allegedly winded down. I hate sounding haughty or self-satisfied, but I do keep it in mind when I hear people express concern about getting it who didn’t take the time or money to test as regularly as I did during the bulk of the pandemic. Fear of getting it, a sincere fear, to me, means you’ll reciprocally do what is necessary to avoid being the one giving it. I wasn’t kidding when I say I don’t know anyone personally who tested more often than I did.
And that’s okay, too.
We’re social creatures. We hug, we eat, we touch. And we breathe the same air.
As for me, everyone who knows me well knows I am a world-class hugger. I can’t imagine a world wherein that wasn’t the case.
You can’t avoid covid. You are welcome to try.
I won’t complain as long as those who do remember that every single point of human contact is an exposure. There’s no practical way around it. If you are breathing their air, you are sharing all their invisible bacteria and viruses. It’s always been this way and obviously always will be.
We were lucky covid wasn’t the catastrophe it could have been.
As for me, I’m optimistic.
People’s behavior in the face of covid fascinates me endlessly.
I had the advantage of being in the medical hotseat when it blossomed. I watched as people verbally warred over its causes, its reality, and its treatment. Covid ended many lives prematurely.
At the center of it all is the fact that we are social creatures.
There is no cure for that. At least, I hope not.
Please don’t “at” me with anything other than an agreement that you understand that being around people is an agreement that anyone can have covid – or that you can, too, and not even know it. Short of locking yourself in a self-contained safe room in a contamination suit, you’re being exposed routinely. Even from those who’ve been fully boosted, from those who haven’t, and from those who look and sound perfectly healthy. You can worry about it all you’d like. But if you’re not in the aforementioned safe room by yourself, you are agreeing that being social is the risk you’re willing to take every day.
I don’t like the sexual analogies some use to compare covid. Sexuality is voluntary and expressed with one individual (Well, in most cases. Let’s not get crazy here!). You’re accepting the risk for yourself and responsible for your behavior. Covid is a disease that transmits omnidirectionally without other participants realizing it. That’s the social truth of these diseases. We rely on each other, just like we do when we drive the crazy streets with the assumption that the other driver is paying attention, not under the influence, and not ready to meet their maker.
All of us owe a huge debt to medical research and medical care itself. It’s easy to forget the pyramid of discoveries that have prolonged our lives. I don’t have to wonder ‘what if’ about the vaccines. I’ll never know. And I’m happy to be able to say that.
PS Remember that I’m not dead yet. I still have it penciled in for 2034. You’ll know it’s my time because I’ll probably be on the news: “local man dressed as a superhero can’t fly after all.”
When I went outside at work, the wind gusted with surprising speed. It seemed like every leaf in NWA was twirling and spinning, even inside the concrete jungle around me. It took me a moment to realize I was witnessing a dust devil comprised of leaves. The inside crux of the tall buildings created an unnatural barrier against which opposing and contradictory wind gusts collided. Because I woke up with more energy than any one person should have, I took off running and chased it before it dissipated. I succeeded in running through it for two seconds. The number of leaves that touched me is unknowable. But the tickling sensation was divine. I probably looked like a damn fool. In fact, I usually do. I’ll take that any day if I can get that kind of sensation. Especially at work. Having fun at work is tantamount to stealing, you know.
Not bad for a Monday morning. Or any morning.
The picture contains the piled remains of the moment, a steadily decreasing number of leaves in each pile.
Noun: A word that describes the feeling that something is about to go miraculously well or so terribly wrong that it might scar you forever.
You can’t step away from the moment, nor would you want to.
Whatever happens, you know it is inevitable, necessary, and life-changing.
You’ll either be fulfilled or left vacantly discontented.
There are words that approximate the feeling, but none capture the personal essence of that infinite certainty that what is about to happen will be a liquid miracle or massive catastrophe. A liquid miracle is one that seeps into everything in your life and finds its way into everything about you: love, an epiphany, the motivation to suddenly just “do” the thing that you couldn’t do before.
The risk of love, the birth of a child, surgery, or the moment when all your reasoning collapses and your course of action becomes a decision rendered as involuntary action and certainty. It is a surrender to the idea that you don’t have control of the outcome.
You’ll be changed forever.
You want it and fear it.
Because our language is entirely invented and arbitrary, I have as much ability to create new words as anyone. Words are what we say they are, just as love and happiness are. I’ve always been fascinated by words and language – and especially the absence of any controlling factor to create and use them. The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows made me realize just how ridiculous our defense of grammar and etymology is. I will put a link in the comments to a TED talk by the creator of that fascinating idea.
PS If you find yourself in a crux moment, one in which life will either reward or bash you for having the audacity, please remember that you might as well fall or jump into the opportunity. Ask.
“Life is exactly like wanting to go for a ride and jumping on a bicycle with square wheels.” – X
Every stone is a story. Of love, loss, regret, lessons, and acceptance.
I put one down, a singular stone, yesterday.
I placed it on a stem I bit off with my teeth.
Looking closely at the picture, you’ll see it handing in the branches. I took the picture when Erika and I walked the trail yesterday. Our walk went by the place that inspired my “¿” story from last Sunday. Pictures don’t capture how eerily overcast and beautifully the morning was. It was a stolen moment of warmth, falling leaves, and intimacy as our feet moved us along the path.
Fifteen years I carried that weight. I broke the watch purposefully all those years ago. A memento.
It’s on the trail now, maybe forever, maybe for a day.
It’s behind me now. Just as everything really is. I forgot I still had it. As I have with so many mementos lately, I wanted to release it and take back the power it once contained.
Everyone’s wounded in their own way. It’s easy to forget that because we feel like we have to conceal the hurt.
Because optimism is a consequence of love, the stone I left behind yesterday left my fingers easily. Erika stood behind me on the trail, watching me clumsily find my way closer to the abandoned trucks decomposing in the brush. After I walked back to the trail to meet her there and continue our lovely walk, I was happy.
Stones aren’t meant to be carried. They are meant to be measured, appreciated, and then left behind. If I had to carry all my accumulated stones, walking would be impossible, as unlikely as finding happiness if I were focused on my missteps.
Don’t forget your stones. Just don’t carry them.
Every stone in your pocket, in your heart, or in your head reduces your ability to siphon the good from whatever awaits you today.
Love, X .
PS I hadn’t heard the song “Stones” by Barbarossa until yesterday. I didn’t watch “HIMYM” like so many other people did. It got in my head to remind myself that every morning I get to decide whether to carry the stones or hurl them into the air – and away, where they belong.
I stood outside the convenience store after exiting.
A miracle car pulled up to the curb next to me. I call it a miracle because it was miraculous that it would run. All of its parts were culled from a hundred disparate vehicles. I saw bolts, baling wire, and tape in surprising places. A couple of pieces of the body looked burned. Or to be remnants of an explosion. It wasn’t loud, but it also sounded like special effects as the engine ran.
The picture I used in this description is not the actual car. Taking their picture would have ruined the moment.
A forty-ish man exited the passenger side. He fumbled with two large manilla envelopes.
From inside the car, a woman’s voice asked, “Are you warm enough? Are you sure you don’t want us to drop you somewhere else?”
He smiled as he managed the papers in his hands.
“I’m good. It’s my first day out. I’m not ever going back there. Never. I learned my lesson. Here is just fine.”
The driver was smoking, nodding his head, and laughing in appreciation of the enthusiasm and certainty with which the first man spoke those words.
I admit I lingered at that point, pretending to look for something in the pocket of my driver’s door.
It was obvious he was arriving home, wherever that might be, just out of prison.
The man walked over to the curb near the gas canister storage. A woman wearing only a jacket somehow got out of the car from the rear seat, as neither the door nor the seat seemed to move.
It was interesting that she had asked him if he were warm enough. When I say she was wearing only a jacket, I’m being literal.
She scampered up to him and gave him a huge hug. His face lit up like a sunrise.
“Are you sure we can’t take you somewhere? Anywhere you want to go?” She smiled up at him.
“No, thank you. I’m beyond good right here.”
He hugged her this time, his arms lifting her up in the air a little. She should have been very cold at that point.
She laughed.
I got in my car to leave, wanting to know his story.
He chose wisely, though.
Both for the hugs and for not getting back into the miracle car.
It MUST be fueled by hope as mechanically it’s an impossibility that it runs without suspending the laws of physics.
Maybe, just maybe, he provided the necessary hope.
There was something about the way he said he had learned the lesson that made me believe him.
I hope he’s safe and warm now, a couple of weeks later.
I didn’t know how to write this little story.
There’s no special ending, no words of wisdom.
It’s just a human moment that I was able to witness.
I wish I could hear the tone of his voice more in my daily life.
When I walked up the trail, a group of trees dropped about a thousand leaves. By the time I got my camera out and my fumble fingers straight, I caught the end of it.
I understand the biochemical reaction that causes such a simultaneous shedding of deciduous leaves.
Understanding it does not make it any less beautiful.
I stood under the trees and let the leaves rain on me.
“It’s 100 times better than yours, though,” I reply.
“I didn’t tell any jokes.”
“Exactly!” I usually reply. .* I modified the social media meme by exchanging one word; it changed everything.
You don’t have to write, draw, paint, make music, dance, or any of the other million ways to express yourself. But in failing to do so, your life exudes monochrome dullness. Whatever you love doing or creating, do it. You don’t have to do it well. I’ve never seen a newborn baby play Chopin or Merle Haggard. Even if you’re sixty and find enjoyment in whatever form of expression, feeling like you must be an expert is pure insanity.
A beginner’s mind – a beginner’s heart.
Remember when you did something with enthusiasm? Regardless of the result?
Well, the clock is ticking.
There will always be critics.
Even if you do it PERFECTLY, it will not be to everyone’s liking or taste.
It was 7:30 a.m. The sunrise was supposed to happen five minutes earlier. Clouds had rolled in to obscure it. Rain and storms arrived the night before. The early morning Sunday October sky was dark and beautiful. Without thinking about it, I found that I was headed to a part of the trail I rarely walked. About a quarter of a mile in, I noted the three abandoned antique vehicles in the brush. The broken, ancient barbed wire fence appeared, its length sporadically still intact.
Over the last year, the wild brush and trees on the other side called to me as I walked by them. I had no idea who owned it. The apparent neglect signaled to me that such a careless owner did not own it at all. The serpentine topography hid all clues about precisely where I was, as did the dense canopy of trees. When I approached the creek bed that flowed under the presumptive fence, I saw that the fence there was gone. Though my shoes were inappropriate for anything except pavement, I stepped through the gap.
With the second step, the air brightened, and the scent of fall decay receded. I took a dozen more steps and pushed against the gnarled branches.
Though the valley should have been shadowy and dark, I could feel the sun’s rays touching my neck. I looked behind me to see that the neglected bushes and trees were gone. In its place was an ankle-high expanse of grass and flowers. I felt like I was experiencing a hybrid dream, one combining Narnia and early-morning half-slumber.
I turned back to look. Instead of foliage, I saw a large red barn with its doors wide open. A hammer clanged rhythmically inside it. A mule stood nearby, untethered.
The hammer continued its work.
“Come on in, I’ve been waiting.” The voice was baritone and melodic.
I didn’t hesitate to walk forward. As I passed it, I rubbed the mule’s neck. It turned slightly to welcome it.
Though the voice did not match my memory, I already knew who would be standing there. I could feel the surety of it.
He appeared to be about forty-five. I never knew him as anything other than old, with a brutal life already behind him.
He wore an old pair of work pants and an oddly green shirt.
“Grandpa? It is you, isn’t it? Your voice is different.” I hesitated.
“I have the voice that belongs to the ideal me. Can I call you Little Bobby, the name I used when we sat on the porch swing together?”
I nodded. Without answering, I walked up to him and hugged him like I learned to do as an adult. He smelled of Old Spice, sawdust, and Cannonball chewing tobacco.
“Little Bobby, I’m most proud that you leaned away from hardness. It could have gone either way for you. I’ve waited forty-four years and three hundred and sixty-two days to tell you that.”
“Yes, but I feel like a failure, Grandpa.”
He smiled.
“I know. None of that is real, son. None of it.” Grandpa put his hand on my shoulder.
He laughed. “I can’t tell you any secrets that you can share. My words are for you only. That’s how it is done. One hour with you is all we get. Help me with this horseshoe, and we’ll talk. Agreed?”
“Yes. Let me help you mess this shoe up. I’m no good at this sort of thing.”
“You were almost a carpenter Little Bobby. And a farmer. Now you’re a writer. Because your job is to find a way to communicate the truth I’m going to share with you without violating the rules here.”
I stood next to Grandpa as he hammered the upper edges of the old horseshoe. The clang of metal was constant and comforting.
Grandpa began to talk, his voice even and confident. I felt like the little boy who sat next to him on the porch swing in Monroe County. Grandpa wasn’t a talkative man nor expressive. Wherever I was, I wanted to stand there forever as he talked. As his voice trailed to a whisper, I realized that the hour was over.
I hugged Grandpa. Instead of sadness, I felt joyous.
“Remember what I’ve told you, Little Bobby. Go live the rest of your life and find a way to share it. We’ll meet again one day and not in the way you expect. You’ll see.”
He turned back to finish another horseshoe, the heavy metal hammer rising and falling.
I walked through the barn doors and ran my hand along the mule’s neck again. Expecting reluctance, I found myself consumed by haste. Not to leave this place but to return to my life, one that would never be the same. In moments I was standing on the trail again, the gap between the creek and fence behind me. Light rain spattered my head and shoulders.
I know you want to know what Grandpa said to me.
I haven’t had enough time to process it, disguise it, and repeat it back. It’s likely that most people wouldn’t accept it. That’s how truth works. It’s obvious after-the-fact but a difficult pill at first.
I’ll give you a hint:
Go outside and look up at the dark sky. Feel the rain lingering in the air. Get a cup of coffee. Find a loved one and put your hand on their arm or run your fingers through their hair. Silence troubled words, worry, or distress that you have no control over your life or the world. Look inside and toward rather than away from.
Hidden inside those words is a world of truth. It’s a zen puzzle that’s not a puzzle at all.
Somewhere, the hammer still rises and falls.
Shadows turn to sunlight.
Voices echo with resonance and truth.
If you’re not sharing your voice and your love, you’re missing the point of everything.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 