Random thoughts six months in and about RBG...

Six months ago, this felt temporary. “Honestly? If it means being holed up for a couple of weeks while this blows over in order to stem the spread of this virus and protect the more vulnerable among us, then yes,"  I wrote in a blog post on March 12th. "Isn't one of the things that makes us so great as Americans the ability for us to pull together in hard times to do the right thing? Even if it makes us uncomfortable? Is disruption to daily routine annoying and a pain? Sure. But wouldn’t losing loved ones because we didn’t do everything we could to slow this down be a lot worse?” On March 12th, when I wrote that, 38 people in the United States had died. Today, six months later, that number is just under 200,000.

Six months ago, the president of the United States was recorded telling a Pulitzer Prize winning author that this virus was deadly. More deadly than terrible flus. Yet in public press briefings, he downplayed it, saying it was no worse than the flu. I just watched a news story from somewhere in the US where people protesting mandated mask wearing parroted those words, “It’s no worse than the flu,” said a little boy. 

Six months ago, the pandemic poem by Catherine O’Meara, In the Time of Pandemic, was passed around as a relic from a past pandemic, but was actually written at the beginning of this one. The sentiment was lovely, evoking images of pioneer women slowing down, meditating and enjoying the beauty of a slowed down world. It was lovely in March, as the Internet pulled together and people shared and families enjoyed time together and life slowed down for a little while. But now, six months later, for some, that idyllic moment has passed. People want their travel ball back. They want to go to bars. This odd politicization happened and it’s hard to imagine us all finding something in common to pull us together again. But I sure wish we could.

Is it normal to still be in a state of disbelief about where we are right now? I see a commercial on tv for face shields and I have two thoughts: 1) smart, the opening is at the top and not the bottom, and 2) how is it that we’re living in a time where the reality is that there are commercials on tv for devices to protect us from each other? (and I guess 3) how is it that that IS the reality, but roughly 40% of our country doesn’t believe any of this is necessary and refuses to take even the most basic measures to protect anyone?

I don’t like feeling “not okay.” I prefer happy go lucky me. I know now, what I didn’t know six months ago: there isn’t going to be a "new normal." We shouldn’t even want a new normal. Wanting a new normal would be settling. Because the old normal really wasn’t so great for everyone either. In fact, it wasn’t great for many. Systemic problems that were right there always are still there. Wouldn’t it be something if we could actually learn from this period we’re in and really tried to fix things? 

Friday. Friday was a good day at work. Parents had lunch brought in for teachers as a teacher appreciation gift. As I grabbed my boxed lunch to take back to my room to go eat alone, I realized many of my colleagues were out on our patio, safely distanced, eating and chatting with each other, so I went and joined them. People! My extroverted side felt gleeful! Later, we celebrated our seniors as they drove by in a car parade. Again…more people. It felt right, it felt good and I felt happy for a little while.

Until that evening, when news of Ruth Bader Ginsberg’s death broke just as I sat down to watch live-streamed Rosh Hashana services. Utterly devastating. The Rabbi, seeing the news in the Facebook Live chat, didn’t miss a beat, changed the course of his service and talked about her, her legacy, what a hero she was and reminded us all that in our own grief to remember her family was grieving, too. 

As the weekend has unfolded and the battle lines drawn regarding this sudden gift to the president and his supporters and the potential loss and fear for those on the left, I’ve thought a lot about this. How much we have to be thankful to RBG for. Her fierce tenacity. Her fight for equality for women. Her five time fight against cancer. What an unfair burden we placed on her as the one thing that could protect us all by staying alive and holding onto her lifetime seat on the SCOTUS. Yet, of course she couldn't do that. So what happens now? We have an obligation to step up and not let her legacy or fighting spirit go to to waste. Most often, goodness prevails. Will it now? It has to.

I’m not a big fan of suspense novels. I didn’t really like Gone Girl, the Couple Next Door, or the Dinner.  Those kind of stories make me tense and I need to know how it’s going to turn out. And, true confession, if it’s in a book and my chest is tightening too much from the story, then I’ll cheat and read a bit of the last page or so, just to be sure the person I need to know is okay is going to be okay. I feel like we’re living the pages of the most intense suspense novel right now. Only I’m not able to flip to the back of the book or  scroll to the last page to reassure myself that things will be all right.

My Heart Aches Tonight

This evening, as I was coming back from a walk, I stopped to say hi to a neighbor and we talked about what was going on in our country right now. She pointed down to her 5-year-old daughter and said that she’s asking questions and how do you explain this to a young child? As I walked away, I said, “I have to go home and cry now,” and we both gave a small, sad laugh.

And my heart aches tonight. 

It aches for the families of George Floyd and Ahmaud Arbery and Breonna Taylor and so many that came before them.

It aches for people of color who have been held down for too long by systems designed to hold them down and beyond which they have no real power.

It aches for Black parents who live in a sort of fear I’ve never really known that their kids might be the next story on the news.

It aches for the Black community for their pain and anger and for feeling so unheard and unhelped for so long.

It aches for the almost 107,000 dead from Covid-19, which though it’s not gone, it is all but currently sort of, but not really, forgotten.

My heart aches tonight. 

It aches for our country, which feels like it’s falling apart as we stand by wringing our hands in horror because no one in Washington has the courage (or maybe desire) to throw water on the Wicked Witch of the West by standing up to the man who could have chosen to lead our country with compassion and strength and worked to unite us, but instead chose the exact opposite, using loaded, incendiary language designed to hurt and divide.

It aches for the US Constitution, particularly the First Amendment, which protects people’s right to protest peacefully, while some were fired on by tear gas as the President called himself the “ally of peaceful protestors.” 

I don’t know how a parent explains 400 years of systemic racism that ends in terrifying images on a TV screen to young children. I don’t know how to reassure my own adult children that we will see better days. Honestly? Right now, I don’t know how to reassure myself the same thing. 

What I do know is this: We have so much work to do. We have to do more than post memes and platitudes and hashtags. We have to read and learn and figure out what it means to be anti-racist. We have to speak up and help out when we see injustice happen. We have to have compassion. We have to be kind.

Where is the hope?

It’s hard to be hopeful when things really don’t feel very hopeful, isn’t it? I started writing this yesterday afternoon, before I’d seen the video of the Minneapolis police and what they did to unarmed George Floyd. We have to find a way to make this better.

I'd like to think I'm a fairly positive person. When I write, even if it’s not a happy topic, I like to end on a more positive note because that’s how I’m wired…I need to find the bright side of things. And yet, we’re in the middle of a global pandemic with no real end in sight. And we don’t know what the future holds as far as the rest of this year and school and other things that we think of as “normal.” And the man who is supposed to be leading our country is having a much better time dividing us, mocking his rivals, tweeting conspiracy theories, with little relief from his horribleness or lack of leadership in sight. And his defenders still defend him. And public health has become a political weapon; simple protective face masks weaponized in a weird new culture war. And the same people who a year ago insisted their right to bear arms at all costs was more important than our children’s right to be safe in their school now insist their right to a good time somehow supersedes yours or my right to feel safe when we leave our houses. And on and on and on. And I just don’t know how to find a hopeful note to end on when everything feels so hopeless.

I’m heartbroken for the mess we seem to be embroiled in: the vitriol spewed on social media comments by people on the extremes (and maybe not so extremes) and the awful things that are happening in the news: Covid deaths reaching over 100,000 and apparent disdain/disbelief of it, the murders of black men on video, disaster after disaster. With no end in sight for any of this ugliness, we’re like sideline players left to feel. And heal. It’s hard to find hope. Right now. But I don’t feel like all hope is lost.

Can you feel as though you’ve been sucked into a vortex of hopelessness and sadness, but not feel like you’ve lost all hope or feel sad all the time? How does that work? I think of it like this: There were some bad things that happened to me in childhood, but if you ask me, I would say (with complete honesty) that I had a happy childhood. These things aren’t mutually exclusive, are they?

What did people in other eras do when things felt this bad? Because in the history of our country, or all humankind for that matter, there have been times that have felt just as, or even more, devastatingly terrible. Young people facing angry mobs with rocks and other things hurtled at them as they integrated schools, Japanese families rounded up and stuck in internment camps, slavery, Civil War. 

I have friends who’ve intentionally been writing about the goodness of the world…that’s their gift and they do a great job of it. I want to find that hope and see things to be grateful for in every day life, too. Mr. Rogers reminded us to look for the helpers.  Laura Ingalls Wilder said, “As you read my stories of long ago I hope you will remember that things truly worthwhile and that will give you happiness are the same now as they were then. It is not the things you have that make you happy. It is love and kindness and helping each other and just plain being good.”

And Anne Frank was able to see the beauty in a world that locked her and her family in a tiny room for two years and ultimately killed most of them. “It's really a wonder that I haven't dropped all my ideals, because they seem so absurd and impossible to carry out. Yet I keep them, because in spite of everything, I still believe that people are really good at heart,” she wrote. 

If Anne Frank can do that, so can I. The hope is there. So is the beauty. I don’t think we have to give up hope to care about the awfulness of what we see. But I do think we have to compartmentalize to avoid getting sucked into that vortex of despair. So I guess that’s what I’m going to do.

A New Normal?

This started out as a post about loneliness. Because I can’t imagine that my feelings of loneliness, even in a house full of human beings and never actually being alone as we’re quarantined, are unique to me. Or the crushing sadness I feel for people who are truly alone right now. My mother, a widow, alone, unable to get together with her friends. My friend’s mom, also a widow, also alone. Another friend’s mom, in a nursing home. How do you explain to someone with dementia why no one is coming to visit them anymore? That kind of loneliness is gut wrenching to imagine. Sick people dropped off at a hospital’s emergency room, left alone in the hospital as their loved ones go home to worry. Alone. Missing my own friends so much it feels suffocating at times, but not really knowing how to connect the way I want, so avoiding more than I should. Thinking of kids who are missing their own friends. Yet, I have  no solution and I’m not sure I have anything insightful to say about it other than to acknowledge that I have these feelings and you probably do too and they don’t really feel great.

So instead it became a post about “the new normal.” On the first night of this year (in what feels like another lifetime ago), my husband suffered a heart attack, sudden cardiac arrest and then later had open heart surgery. In the weeks that followed, I was told, “It’ll be okay, you’ll find your new normal.” And I really wasn’t sure what that looked like, but I guess as we developed new habits and routines, we kind of did. And now, just 12 short weeks later, we’re all trying to find “our new normal” in the face of a global pandemic. Characters in books, after going through some major life change, often “find their new normal.” But truthfully? I don’t really want a new normal, I want my old normal back. I want my comfortable normal from December 31st, 2019 or even March 13th, 2020 back. A normal that wasn’t filled with fear or sadness or loneliness. I had it pretty sweet…mostly empty nester learning how to maneuver life with my husband in the “kids done or almost done with college mode.” We would go out to eat, travel a little, laugh a lot, we had routines. But as Mick so eloquently said, “You can’t always get what you want,” and that sure seems to be the case with this. So what is our new normal? What does that even mean? How do we know when we’re there? Do we stay there? Is that it? We fall into new routines. Are the routines and rhythms of a household in isolation really the new normal?

But that’s not even what this post is about. What this post is actually about, or what’s on my mind right now, is this: What happens when we’re done doing what we’re doing right now? So much has changed. And so quickly. We’ve learned new ways to do our jobs. New ways to do school. New ways to connect. New ways to patronize restaurants. New ways to interact with our families. New ways to slow down. New ways to be. New ways to think. We’ve learned that we can get by without so many things. We’ve learned that in the face of scary, challenging stuff, we can have days where we’re productive and things feel, dare I say, “normal,” and we can have days where we feel off and not so productive and we’ve learned that both are okay. We’ve learned that funny memes are sometimes just the thing to get us through hard days and the upside to social media is that it can help us not feel as alone as we might otherwise feel.

But when the stay at home orders are lifted and the pandemic fears have died down, what happens? I mean, after we do the things we've missed, like get a haircut or go for coffee with a friend. Do we go right back to the way things were? Does the hustle and bustle of LBC (Life Before Covid) ramp right back up? This virus has taken so much from so many: loved ones, jobs, health, security, human connection. And at the same time, it’s given much: fear, yes, but also time to think, time with family that felt like it had been lost forever, time to breathe, new ways to connect, time to reflect on what really matters, time to get outside. How do we take the good parts of now and combine them with the good parts of LBC? Do the calls and need for human connection and kindness stick?

Maybe this post is about the “new normal,” after all. Because it seems like the new normal can, no, should, include parts of the old normal. The smell of freshly cut grass on a pretty spring day. A stunning full moon on a clear night. A song on your playlist that makes you smile; or a song that makes you cry. That feels normal. And right. And good. Making dinner. Night, after night, after night (this, is definitely new for me!). Seeing a little girl run through a sprinkler in a bathing suit while holding a polka dotted umbrella and squealing with laughter. Maybe the two normals eventually morph into something that just feels like life is moving forward. Maybe not the way we intended, but still in a forward motion and it becomes this thing that we all experienced and will never forget and that will shape our futures in a way that we really can’t imagine, yet.

All the Feels (more of my random thoughts on COVID-19)

This past couple of days have truly hit “all the feels.” Here’s just a sampling of some of the emotions I’ve felt, sometimes all in the same hour, sometimes all in the same 10 minutes.

Relief. Relief that we had the ability to quickly get out of town and get my son from college who’d been displaced from his last semester and have him home. 

Grateful.  Grateful for doctors and nurses who are on the front lines dealing with sick people every day, grateful for the sacrifices businesses (small and large) are making, thankful for the helpers. Grateful for journalists who are working round the clock to keep us informed of what’s really going on. Thankful and appreciative for the amount of work teachers and administrators have put in trying to wrap their heads around how to “do school,” knowing that they won’t be able to please everyone and that changes seem to happen on a dime.

And sadness. So much change. And so quickly!  Sad for the disruption to life as we typically know it..for teachers and administrators trying to figure out the best way to “do school.” For seniors in HS and college. I was thinking about how happy and hopeful we felt on the quad when we dropped our son off at school 3-1/2 years ago, and how sad and lonely the campus seemed when we got him on Saturday. Sadness for the seniors in my school, not knowing whether, or when, any of the senior “things” they’ve looked forward to for years will happen. Sadness that I don’t know when I’ll see my students in person again or carry out traditions that we do near the end of the year in my classes each year. Sadness for families who struggle and will be dramatically effected economically by what’s going on. Sadness for people who are sick and dying of this virus. Sadness for those who are considered among the more vulnerable and are scared for their lives right now.

Angry. Angry for many of the same reasons as above. Angry that our federal government bungled this so much and yet still says their response has been “great and unprecedented.” Angry that people called this a hoax, that they assigned some political agenda to this. Since when is public health a partisan issue, anyway?

Happiness. Happy to read of families having great attitudes about being forced to slow down and enjoy time together. Families sharing resources and ideas online for how to plunge forward in the coming days and weeks. 

And hopeful. I’m hopeful that these measures we’re taking will contain the virus. I heard someone on the radio the other day say they were concerned that the social distancing works so well that people will say this was all hyped when, in fact, the reason cases started dropping was that the measures worked. I’m hopeful that people will continue being kind to each other. Hasn’t it been lovely the way people have been smiling at others, acknowledging them, making offers to tutor each others’ kids online? I’m hopeful that we will continue to offer grace and compassion to others. Most teachers have never delivered content to full classes of students for long stretches of time. It’s uncharted territory. Most schools haven’t closed for extended periods of time. It’s also uncharted territory. Mistakes will be made. Infrastructure may not handle it well. Parents will be frustrated. Teachers will be frustrated and everyone will need to have compassion for each other. I’m hopeful we can have compassion for young people whose big milestone events are up in the air and might be sad about it and have every right to be. Being sad, and even saying so, doesn’t mean they are spoiled or lack resiliency. You can be sad and still grateful for the first responders all at the same time. I’m hopeful we can have compassion for each other as the newness of our situation wears off and reality sets in.

I know I’m not alone with these thoughts and swirl of emotions. I think again, back to Ma and Pa trudging across the prairie in a horse drawn buggy with 3 young girls (or was it four? Albert? Who knows how many they really had, anyway?). Imagine the uncertainty they felt as they embarked on new lives in new places. We’re kind of in the place of a new normal now, but the certainty is that we can stay connected, at least virtually, and that we’ll come out of this stronger than we were before. And hopefully, the kindness and compassion that we expend during this period of time will carry into the future when we’re on the other side of this.

A Study In Contrasts (re: "Won't You Be My Neighbor")

This morning, I watched the “Today Show” as they profiled a campaign rally in Montana. The featured speaker, the 45th president of the United States, makes fun of of a US Senator’s heritage, makes winking jokes regarding the “#metoo movement,” picks on an elderly former US President and an ailing US Senator, both of whom served our country in times of war (while he received multiple “medical exemptions” from the Draft to avoid serving), tells lie after lie about things that just aren’t even remotely true. And the audience behind him? They are whooping it up, smiling, nodding, encouraging, cheering him on.

I felt like I was watching a scene out of a teen movie where the kids all laugh as the bully picks on the movie’s underdog (Remember Biff in “Back to the Future”? Or Johnny in the “Karate Kid”? And the way their friends stand in the background, laughing and taunting along with them?)

Feeling a little sick and a lot saddened, I wondered how we got here.

To this place we are in. Right now. I wondered what drives people to be so hate-driven that they have let their own values go by the wayside as they cheer on a man who has…
...bragged on tape about grabbing women in places he had no business touching;
...equated white supremacists with “very fine people”;
...mocked a reporter with a physical disability;
...allowed children to be torn from the arms of their parents who were seeking asylum in our country; 
...praised dictators and alienated allies;
...had multiple extra-marital affairs, yet jeered opponents for doing the same;
...encouraged the “birther” movement against a sitting US President;
...made bigoted statements regarding citizens of numerous specific countries and religions; ...endorsed politicians who have been known for their bigotry, sexism and pedophile tendencies;
...and much more...

A few hours later, I went to see the “Won’t You Be My Neighbor” documentary, a profile of Fred Rogers. Mr. Rogers, to be sure, was an icon of my childhood. I have strong memories of watching “Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood” (probably long after it was socially acceptable for someone my age to do so). I loved his characters, the lessons he taught and his gentleness.

And as I watched this beautifully made film, heard the words directly from his mouth, his family and those who worked with him, I was struck again and again by how much I really miss Mr. Rogers. What he spoke and advocated for are exactly what we are missing in this time. This show, from its very roots in 1968 (a tumultuous time for our country), is incredibly relevant today. Right now. In the first week of his show, he taught that we don’t need walls to keep people out. He spoke of kindness for others. Acceptance. Yes, he made mistakes that I am certain he wouldn’t make today in regards to acceptance for all, but that doesn’t take away from what he did during his time.

He spoke of the human need for love. For meaningful relationships and for people to feel needed, worthwhile, heard. Oddly, he was ridiculed for this stance, as the root cause of “the entitlement of kids today.” (this is a topic for another post at another time...but I will write it one day, I’m sure!).

Not surprising to most people who know me, I cried as “Won’t You Be My Neighbor” ended. Cried for the man that has gone, and the values he espoused. Wondering what he would say if he were alive today. Would his words resonate? Would we listen to him? Would those who cheered at that rally be moved by him? I left thinking, “We need a new Mr. Rogers...who can be that be?” Who can come in as a strong, passionate personality that can change the discourse as we know it?

I posted the following on Facebook immediately after leaving the movie: “After seeing “Won’t You Be My Neighbor” this afternoon, I realize how desperately we need someone to step in and fill the void left behind by Mr Rogers.” I know many who could fit the bill. I work with them...passionate teachers, strong leaders, great parents, clergy people who speak truth and know how to reach large audiences...people who care deeply for and about others. How lucky I am to know such people. I’m sure you know some, too.

But then, while I think that, yes, a new Mr. Rogers would be a great gift to us all, I think that maybe what we really need, is to dig deep and find the Mr. Rogers in ourselves. If we’d all channel our own Mr. Rogers, we’d be so much better off. Maybe we could start a movement! Mr. Rogers once said, “We live in a world in which we need to share responsibility. It's easy to say ‘It's not my child, not my community, not my world, not my problem.’ Then there are those who see the need and respond. I consider those people my heroes.”

If we all stand up for kindness, love, compassion...can we make a change? What would it take? How do we reach those who cheer for and stand by someone who uses his persona as a platform for hatred and anger. How do we get them to see that they don’t get their value or worth from that and that people like that use them as an ends to their own selfish means?

In 1999, as Mr. Rogers was honored at the Television Hall of Fame, he spoke of the value of life and the responsibility of television going forward into this millennium to show the good in the world. He said, “But how do we make goodness attractive? By doing whatever we can do to bring courage to those whose lives move near our own – by treating our ‘neighbor’ at least as well as we treat ourselves and allowing that to inform everything that we produce.” What I really wish as our tv screens and social media walls fill with more shared images of hard, scary things in the world, is that we will rise strong, find our inner Mr. Rogers voice, look for the helpers and say, “Stop. Enough. We’re going to make goodness attractive starting right now.”