Work With Hope

 

The past week of isolation has been the toughest so far. As I said at the beginning of the week, I had decided to embrace more complete lockdown protocols, so I cut out my daily walk to the store and my outdoor bike ride. Thus I was in the house alone all day every day. And to compound the feeling of loneliness, we had several days of rain virtually all day, making it impossible to take a walk around the block at night or even go out on my balcony for any length of time. All this contributed to a pretty significant case of cabin fever, and a very cranky boy.

But this morning was sunny, and I decided at breakfast that it was time to make a (safe) break for it. I locked myself up in the (comparatively) safe atmosphere of my car, and drove for about an hour. I drove through Santiago Canyon where I was able to see the beginnings of springtime green on the hills, and driving all the way down to the oceanfront in Laguna I followed the coast up to Corona Del Mar before turning right back toward home. Though I never left my car, I felt freer than I have in a week.

Just looking at the sun and blue sky through my window this afternoon, I can’t help but feel hopeful, that sometime this time will come to an end. Though I suspect I will still be locked in until the end of the month at best, I could feel the broader world around me again. I know this Hope is as irrational as the despair I felt earlier in the week, but I’ll take it for today and hope that you might have a bit of hope as well.

Be safe, be strong.

Today marks a stepping off point for me. For this of you who have followed this blog for the last few years, you know I have done 24 days of blogging every December, but never a day 25. So this entry marks uncharted territory, God willing not the final frontier. When I started this, I think I assumed that we might be locked in for a week, maybe two at most. Now that we are nearing four weeks of confinement with an indeterminate number to go, I worry that as my world continues to shrink that I will have less and less to talk about. So I am setting an artificial deadline for this exercise to finish. Should we still be in continued lockdown, April 30 will be the final daily reflection of this set…unless I change my mind.

Though I have many things that occupy me during the day, I spend a lot of every day thinking about my life and life in general. From the perspective of being 61, I see my life at the two-thirds point with a solid third to go. This is of course daunting, one never likes to think that the milkshake has slipped below the midway point of the glass, but to some extent there is also sense that the lessons of the first two segments can inform the one yet to come. In fact this gives one the opportunity to remake one’s life again, an opportunity that is compounded by this worldwide timeout we are all experiencing.

So what might I want this last act to be? Whenever I’ve thought about this and all the things I want to carry on and the things I might like to leave behind, I keep coming back to one phrase, I want to be happy. 

The Atlantic is beginning this week a series called “How to Build a Life,” written by Arthur C Brooks. In the weeks to come the series will be examining different aspects of life in the contemporary world (though at least the first of the series was written before the extent of the pandemic was known, it has been revised to very much address our current realities). The first article is called, “The Three Equations for a Happy Life, Even During a Pandemic” (https://www.theatlantic.com/family/archive/2020/04/how-increase-happiness-according-research/609619/). The author, who teaches a class on happiness at Harvard Business School ( before you roll your eyes read his description of the actual content of the course), attempts to approach the multi-faceted topic of happiness through three equations.

Though I’ll leave you to explore the full article, the first equation sets the discussion for everything that is to follow:

H=g+c+h

In this equation, happiness (H) is the culmination of three contributing factors, genetics (g), circumstances (c), and habits (h). Though our genetic makeup alone does not make us happy or unhappy, it is undeniable that different people have different happiness baselines, reacting more or less positively to similar circumstances. This is not to say that there is a happy gene, but a genetic combination that makes one predisposed to differing reactions to stimulus. Circumstances suggest that similar stimuli can cause more or less happiness based on the circumstances of an individual. Simply stated a person who is dying of thirst finds greater happiness in a sip of tepid water than a sated person finds in a glass of wine. Finally habits are described as relationships, work, and transcendental aspects of life. These are further studied in equation 2.

The human being (as far as we know) is the only being that considers its own happiness. Animals might be drawn toward pleasure and away from pain, but there are no indications that they reflect of these or consider why they feel happy or not. Because of this ability, and examined life calls for us to reflect on the happiness we have and what may create greater happiness for ourselves and for others.

Be safe, be strong.

Mr. President, we don’t want this. We don’t want the endless listing of statistics out of context spun only for self-aggrandizement. We don’t want your smug self-satisfaction that you are doing a “heck of a job” with all aspects of this virus. We don’t want the lies about snake oil cures from a snake oil salesman. We don’t want you using the bully pulpit as a bully to demonstrate your virility through personal attacks at journalists’ questions (all too often mocking the “nasty” questions of women). We don’t want you taking credit for every recovery and shifting blame for every death. Most of all, we don’t want you talking about your television ratings and comparing them to MNF or The Bachelor!

Oddly, the person whom you could turn to for words at this time is someone in your own circle whom I quite frankly despise for his callous embrace of your sideshow and strides to drive the carnival wagon. Rudy Giuliani, former mayor of New York, hired gun, tough guy, abuser of law and propriety, probably criminal, once said the right thing. In a press conference soon after the attack on the World Trade Center, when asked about the number of casualties, he simply said that they “will be more than any of us can bear.”

That simple statement, without bombast or politics or details, says more about what we are feeling now than any statistics, excuses, or political spin. Virtually everyone in this country is hurting all the time either from direct loss of friends or relatives, loss of job, loss of plans, loss of future, loss of hope. Hurting is almost all we do these days. So say it, say this hurts and people are hurting more than anyone can know or quantify or defend or bear.

And then step away from the microphone and let Fauci talk.

Be safe, be strong.

Pardon me if today’s post is shrouded in a bit of mystery, for the event that is the focus of my reflection isn’t all that important to many people beside me, though the experience I’m sure matches many of yours.

Something good happened today. No, the cure for the virus wasn’t discovered nor did the President skip his daily press briefing. A small bit of good happened today (actually it was something bad that didn’t happen, but these days we’ll take that as a good), and I am deeply happy and grateful and frankly unbelieving.

These are days when it feels like troubles and bad news stalk us like robocalls. We fear to answer the phone or look at the phone lest we learn about another illness, another death, another financial disaster, another personal loss. We become so sure of the disasters that we fear to even hope for anything else as we cringingly look at our phone or watch the news through fingers covering over eyes. Which is why a bit of good news surprises us as much as it delights us. “Wait! That’s not supposed to happen!”

At the end of the movie Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, Wonka, played by the incomparable Gene Wilder gently, almost unbelievingly, touches the Gobstopper given back by Charlie in a truly selfless act, and incorrectly quotes Shakespeare, “So shines a good deed in a weary world.” Now the original was spoken by Portia in The Merchant of Venice, “So shines a good deed in a naughty world.” However, the change of word so perfectly captures that moment, and it captures this moment as well. We are weary from a constant diet of bad news, and for me today (and I hope many times for you) we touch something good with almost untrusting joy, but joy nonetheless.

Be safe, be strong.

Today’s playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6IHtUtlYxGYyZ4cQ61kAJX?si=7A2aouIyRduEdKYgv1iisQ

With this week, I’m shutting my world down a little bit further. Through the past weekend I have taken a daily walk to the store, ridden my bike outdoors, and even met people for coffee at a safe distance in parking lots of Starbucks. However, based on what I’ve read about the progress of the virus (and like most of you, I’ve read too much) it seems that even greater caution will be necessary to navigate the next few weeks.

I have enjoyed my continued connection to the outside world. I have always taken this seriously and taken precautions within my travels, but it has been nice to see people. It has been particularly good to act as a delivery service, for friends and neighbors, which has fed my genetic need to help people. Riding my bicycle gave me the opportunity to see some of the nature that is around me while watching other people stay active in a mostly closed world.

So why am I closing up for a bit? This falls primarily into three reasons. First, I understand that a spike in cases is expected soon. If this is so, I don’t want to be sick while competing for resources or worse taking away resources from someone else. Second, I am very concerned about asymptomatic transmission, and the thought that I might give something to someone unwittingly (or equally scary catch something from a non symptomatic person) is not something I could live with. Third, I had to have a conversation with my daughter this weekend about what my wishes would be should I end up on a ventilator. That is not a call I want her to have to make for several years, and certainly not because I wasn’t cautious.

So I’m cut back and closed in. I’m grateful that I have the luxury to be inconvenienced like this. I wait with strong anticipation for a time when this will be over, and I’m anxious to find how we will live in the world to come.

Be safe! Be strong!

Today’s playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1Z6UK8MUYVkfp1NMI2oFge?si=vZxu3cCLTPe7ah2RCTOoXg

Ok, enough thinking. Time for another glimpse at my new home. This is the living room. For those of you who remember the balcony shot last week, this room is connect to that, and the shot is taken from overhead in the dining room area, one half flight up.

I spend a good portion of my reading time here, either in the chair, which was my parents’ chair for many years, or on the sofa. The room is very bright during the day with the window being, the glass door to the balcony which has another huge window on top, and a skylight. The front door is a ways behind the red chair. This is the entrance room where I hope to hold parties, book clubs, and cocktails before dinners in the dining room room or on the balcony.

This room has the highest ceiling of any of the rooms of the house, adding to the light and airy feeling during the day. Unseen in the picture is the television and a built in set of bookshelves. Of course the fireplace, though not on my original list of “must haves” will be a critical focus of the room. I’m still trying to decide about the picture over the fireplace. It belonged to my parents, and I like it, but I’m not sure that it is my aesthetic. What do you think?

Be safe, be strong.

Another observation without a lot of deep insight today. I’ve been alone in my condo for the past 20 days. I don’t have visitors, and I don’t visits other people’s houses. As I’ve said in a few earlier posts, this has led to a mixture of cabin fever, agitation, and just plain loneliness. I have many friends; I must text close to ten people a day, and I speak occasionally to people on the phone or even through video chat, so I am far from isolated. I have books to read and virtually the whole of Netflix and Amazon Prime laid before me. I also get out walking in the neighborhood or on my bike. My situation is no where near as extreme as so many others; however, I find myself thinking how nice it would be to have someone here to talk to, to hear noises in the house and not have to worry about them, to see someone’s real face rather than a digital simulation.

That is until I start talking to my friends who are couples or families. Many of these are facing dissimilar, but just as disorienting, challenges. The constant presence of two or more in limited spaces must feel claustrophobic. The universal stress felt by us all at this time can only serve to accelerate irritation and spur conflict. Even something so basic as the lack of computers or televisions to meet individual needs spurs the ambient tension. A friend of mine remarked this morning that it will be an interesting comparison between how many babies are born out of this time and how many divorces will follow. Or to put it even more succinctly, another friend said, “I would give anything just to be alone for five minutes.”

All of this exists in the greater reality and constant fear of contagion and sickness that we all think about every day. Here as well each configuration carries unique burdens but similar stress. The lone residents wonder about how they will manage illness if it comes to their door. “If I am taken ill, how will I manage?” “What if I have to go to the hospital, how will I get there?”And in our darker moments, “What if I just die alone?” On the other hand, houses of more than one are far more likely to be exposed, as each person brings his or her exposure history into each meeting, and of course if one person gets ill, the likelihood of household contagion is high. So each cohabitant becomes simultaneously a support and a threat. While I can can control a good portion of my I own exposure, those living together need to rely on everyone in the group to do the same, and there is always a weak link.

While this is a classic, “grass is always greener” conundrum, I think it also points to the fact that lockdown and isolation take very workable living arrangements and turn them into the intolerable. Coupling the lack of external stress relievers, granting companionship to the solo or solitude for the coupled, with the general ambiance of uncertainty, fear, and boredom of the time makes for an uncomfortable world where one is far from enough and two are way too many.

Be safe, be strong.

Today’s Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3SVAPOKBL9c9sVMI9BZNp6?si=6-GIMN04SnSdZ6KHmvpjYQ

This one may be completely off the mark because it is based only on my observation of a tiny sample size. So take it for the non-scientific musings of someone trying to draw connections in a very strange world (I really need a statistician to help me with these!).

Watching Facebook posts over the past week, I’ve discovered an alarming trend of the use of data relating to COVID cases and COVID fatalities. I have noticed that my more left-leaning friends have been focused on number of cases and number of potential deaths, whereas the more right-leaning people who I follow (or more rightxwing comments on others’ posts) tend to focus on the number who have recovered and how the projected death counts are less than other pandemics. I follow one person who daily posts a running count of the number of people who have recovered…I’m not sure where that data comes from, because it would seem to be totally uncountable given the number of non-symptom cases.

The reasons for this seem pretty obvious to me. Just as everything else in life, COVID has become the football of never ending game of politics that we cannot escape for a moment. Those who are questioning administrative handling of this crisis (of which, I’m sure it’s no surprise, I count myself) focus on the death counts as a preventable tragedy, the inevitable cost of ignoring the recommendations of science and believing that spin and bluster could change this reality as it has changed so many others. Death counts (and projected death counts), particularly out of context, are stark and real and persuasive. I am moved by these counts, though if I were to pick away at them a bit, I’m certain I would learn more than the simple number provides, (for example, given the targeted demographics, how many of these people would have died from other causes in this time frame?). But the number is the argument, put in simple digital form.

On the other hand, those that tout the number of recovered are making an equally political statement. It is an offshoot of the pandemic-denier stance (which surprisingly remains despite all evidence). Using these numbers, one asserts that COVID is not deadly to most persons who contract it, a fact that is undeniable. Therefore, measures taken should be minimal because the contraction of the disease is not a death sentence in most cases. There is also an implied assertion that Administrative actions were correct because people are recovering. This is a variation of the “nothing to see here” argument. To be frank, I don’t know what these numbers mean either, since huge numbers of cases are never diagnosed.

These approaches violate both my first and second rules of data.

Greg’s First Rule of Data: Data is neither good nor bad, it just is. These are projections based on a certain level of reliability, whether this is good or bad is completely human projection.

Greg’s Second Rule of Data: No data point has meaning unless it is compared with another data point. I cannot draw any information about myself from isolated data points, without disaggregation and comparison.

It is sad, however, that the numbers have been politicized. Using recovery to health to support the actions of the current insanity appears callous, ignoring the real cost to individuals and communities. Likewise to use death statistics in a pandemic for political gain seems equally cold-blooded.

Years from now these numbers will be more accurate and will be placed in a greater context, but that will be long after current political figures have left the scene. Until then let us remember two things wherever we stand on the political spectrum. 1. COVID is a serious virus from which most healthy people recover; it is not an automatic death sentence for most. 2. The cost to individuals, families, and communities will be catastrophic, and none of that is politics. It is hurt, and it is up to us to jump in with the help and care when we can.

Stay safe, stay strong.

Today’s playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7b2NbQRgcBFVh2oeNpP7DL?si=GZ-ZwSJeRJC1gktDUZHYMg

A person with whom I text regularly does not ever use emojis in her texts. I didn’t notice this at first, but as time passed, and more and more subjects were covered, it became clear that this was not a fluke, but a conscious choice. When I asked her about this, she seemed to have not noticed it herself, “No, I’ve never seen the need.”

Figuring I would match in my responses, I decided to eliminate my own use of emojis for our conversations. And do you know what I found? It was darn hard! I’ve come to rely on emojis to add color, and nuance and commentary to my statements, and simply using language, the thing we have been using for centuries, suddenly seemed insufficient. I worried over statements and how they would be perceived, challenged to find the words to do what the shorthand of emojis have been doing for me.

The funny thing is how quickly this symbolic language has moved into our lives. Though the first emojis were developed in the late 1990s, their integration into smart phones didn’t happen until well after 2010 well behind the advent of texting. I remember seeing young people doing this and thought it was the most ridiculous thing. Soon afterward I began to see it in the texts of contemporaries, and even coworkers. I don’t remember the first time I added and emoji to a text. I’m sure I felt silly, but it wasn’t long before I regularly integrated them into the majority of my texts. So in less than 10 years we have moved from a text based language to a text and image based language with its own codes and syntax.

Though there are always jokes about communicating only with emojis, generally emojis are modifiers for language. I heard a podcast once that made a connection between current emojis and pictures in illuminated Medieval manuscripts, not the primary text, but indicating things about that text. Most of us use the thumbs-up emoji as a substitute for yes and thumbs-down for no, so some emojis have discrete meaning. But what does the heart emoji mean? Or the kissing emoji? Or the kissing emoji without a heart? Only the surrounding text can suggest meaning, just as simultaneously the emoji colors the meaning of the text. If I were to say, “I love you” with a heart, it’s pretty clear what that heart means. But if I were to say, “You are the greatest friend” with the same heart, the heart means something different.

Emojis have (luckily) remained primarily in the genre of text messaging. The inability for multiple platforms to read and reproduce them has kept them out of email (though as people rely more on others reading emails on a phone, I have seen these drifting in) and word processed documents whether on the screen or printed. This means that we are essentially speaking a different language when we text from other writing. I have felt this when I have thought to myself, “If only I could put a laughing face here, this paragraph would be so much clearer!”

Human evolution takes many paths, and sometimes there is a fundamental shift that we don’t recognize until we try to step it back. I’m not saying that developing image language is as important as walking upright, but I challenge regular texters to go without it for one week and feel how often the tug is there. That is Mother Nature saying that you have changed and you didn’t know it.

Be safe, be strong.

Today’s playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2Hg9uLe4rwE59uqgMBUsla?si=QmmCJtY3R9eS6KjWZe5KwA

I am reading, and I must say enjoying, the book Sapiens, A Brief History of Humankind by Yuval Noah Harari. It is one of those sweeping “unified theory of everything” books that I like. I am still only half-way through, so I am limited in what I can say about it, but during my reading yesterday, I came across something that is going to bug me for the rest of the book.

The essential premise of the book is observing the three major “revolutions” (cognitive, agricultural, and scientific) that brought Homo sapiens to the forefront of human species, and how the evolutionary progress of our species has brought us to be the monsters that we are today. It paints in very broad strokes, and some of the premises are more specious than others, still it is an entertaining read, and a lot of it makes sense. I have no argument with his jumps of logic. My beef is with something much more trivial.

In a paragraph discussing the development of theistic world views, he quickly paints a broad picture of the scope that comes under the banner.

“The generic rubric ‘theists’ covers Jewish rabbis from eighteenth-century Poland, witch-burning Puritans from seventeenth-century Massachusetts, Aztec priests from fifteenth-century Mexico, Sufi mystics from twelfth-century Iran, tenth-century Viking warriors, second-“century Roman legionnaires, and first-century Chinese bureaucrats. Each of these viewed the others’ beliefs and practices as weird and heretical.”

I’m certain that Harari did not intend this as an exhaustive list or even a comprehensive list, but one phrase caught my eye, “witch-burning Puritans from seventeenth-century Massachusetts.” I am not a historian, but even I know that no so-called witches were burned in America. Accused non-recanting witches during the madness in Salem and elsewhere were hanged (11 in total, 9 being women). One accused male was tortured and crushed to death by stone weights on his chest. Not one of these was burned. The sentence of burning for witches took place in Europe, but never in the Colonies.

Why does this bug me so much? It isn’t important to the point he is making, and no further premise or conclusion rests on this statement. I certainly have made several incorrect statements in speech and writing, and I am universally known for my lack of attention to detail. It would seem I should let this slide…but the irritation remains.

I suppose that what’s irking is that this respected historian made a fundamental mistake about a piece of history that I would consider borderline common knowledge. Anyone who has any encounters with the history of the madness in New England (or who has read The Crucible) knows this. This is a researched and sourced book…what gives? On top of this, the book must have had multiple editors, and I am certain that it must have been sent out for some peer review prior to release. The book was released in Israel three years before the American edition, and the issue has not been corrected. I have not read reviews…yet, so I don’t know if anyone else has identified this. But no matter how much I will learn and take from this book, it will be the witches I remember.

That being said, read the book. It’s pretty good.

Be safe, be strong.

Today’s playlist:  https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3RpUgyiN1GaeB4KMT4POah?si=fEY37R1-Quah9hmN11SFrQ