COVID: An Essay

One of my favorite authors, Michel de Montaigne, put the name “essais,” to a genre of literature that is at least as old as the Roman Republic. The word means “attempts.” The idea is that the literary work does not need to follow a set form, but rather could follow the workings of the human mind in all its messy, peripatetic glory. In this era of COVID-19, we need that genre more than ever. Writing an essay means practicing being honest with yourself. And in this era of wearing a button-down shirt with pajama pants to join a meeting on COVID-Camera, we need to be honest with ourselves, at the very least. We often feel so put-upon that we don’t know what we’re thinking and feeling at any given time.

I wrote the following as an attempt (an assay, if you will) at the genre. I encourage any readers so inspired to write their own, and to contact me about publishing them. 

Cheers and happy reading 

-Adam

COVID Woes

Recently, I had to field a particularly difficult phone call. This last year-and-change I’ve been working as a contact tracer for a large organization. Recently, it’s been my job to call people infected with COVID-19 and tell them that they tested positive, before walking them through the next steps and asking them whom they’ve been in contact with.

It’s dull work, but I feel a sense of purpose when I do it. Not always. But sometimes I feel as though I’m not only giving people the facts and resources they need to stay safe, but I’m also helping to give them the sense of energy and purpose. Making them feel like someone’s on their side.

This call, though. It was hard.

I was able to speak to the woman in question and she immediately started talking to me. This is something that happens with many of my calls. You’d expect (and you’d be right) that a lot of people refuse to talk. But if you think about it, you might realize that some people are waiting to talk. People are isolated. They’re scared. And so they open up. Yes, even to a stranger. Or maybe especially to a stranger.

This One Call

The tale she told would have caused a stone to weep spring-water. She had several children and several co-morbidities. I found myself wondering who would take care of them if something happened to her. And she hadn’t reported her symptoms to a doctor. I didn’t spend much time on the phone with her, so I don’t know her whole story. But when someone is hurting like she was and does not seek medical care, the answer (in this country) is typically money. Hospitals are charging patients for COVID-19-related medical care. And that is thousands of dollars that some patients just don’t have.

As much as I wanted to help this person, I didn’t know how to help her in one way without hurting her in another. I felt stuck. Not as stuck as she probably felt. But still. Stuck. The base rate for an ambulance in NYC is 900 dollars. These numbers are current as of January 2021. A more advanced ambulance with life-support systems has a base rate of $1,625. In both cases, it costs $15/mile on top of the base rate. And oxygen costs $66. Though to be fair any limo worth its salt charges extra if you avail yourself of the mini-bar.

The point I’m making is that I shouldn’t have to feel this bad about saving a person’s life. I know that there is no such thing as ethical consumption under capitalism; but it often feels like there is no such thing as an ethical decision under capitalism. And by pushing everyone just a bit closer to the brink, COVID has made everything so much worse. So much more stark.

I don’t have a grand point to be making today. I’m just tired and upset and looking to vent. And I know a lot of people feel a similar way.

It’s not just COVID

I’m afraid for the people in Ukraine. I’m afraid for the people in other former-Soviet Republics, as well. If that weren’t enough, I’m afraid that the world’s other bullies (including the United States) will see Vlad’s tantrum as an opportunity to start squaring their shoulders and throwing their elbows around, as well.

So what does one do under such circumstances?

I have a few examples that come to mind. One is The Lord of the Rings. I may recover from feeling let down by this book someday. By how racist and sexist it now seems to me, despite the enormous amount of heart and courage and poetry embodied within its pages. But feeling let down by it is a function of how much I have loved it. In any case, having a more complex relationship with the book does not dim certain passages for me. In particular there is the fact that in the opening chapters of The Fellowship of the Ring, Gandalf identifies Bilbo’s pity as the reason he did not slay Gollum.

Later, in the second volume of The Two Towers, Frodo, on advice from Gandalf, realizes he must embody that selfsame virtue. He, too, must pity Gollum. And must not kill him. So that when the quest comes to a head, Frodo is shown not to have the straightforward strength of will to destroy the Ring. But the fact that he pitied Gollum and kept him alive sets in motion the chain of events resulting in the destruction of the Ring.

Virtues for a Dark Time

Tolkien lived through a lot. One of the things he lived through is World War I. And having lived through a soul-destroying event like that, Tolkien’s soul was not, in fact, destroyed. Rather, he wrote a book about war and chaos in which kindness, not force of arms, would win the day. I know first-hand how much effort it requires to write a book. But there are a lot of bad books out there. My dissertation is, alas, one of them. And a lot of books that glorify the strong and the clever at the expense of the kind and the patient and the loving. I don’t know that we give Tolkien enough credit for writing a book about how, when it seems like everyone else is a giant (and full-blown royalty besides) it’s enough for you to be kind and patient and loving.

We remember quite clearly that Tolkien lived through the World Wars. What we might do better to remember is that that also means he was present for the Influenza Pandemic that began in 1918. That virus is estimated to have afflicted half a billion people. That’s a third of the world’s population at the time. And of the five hundred million it afflicted, it killed some fifty million. Which means a person who caught the flu had only a 90 percent survival rate. That’s in contrast to a 95-99 percent survival rate with COVID. I’m not trying to downplay what we’re going through.

In any case, I think we should listen to him when he talks about what is required to survive and even prosper in difficult times. You don’t have to follow his advice; but certainly listen to it:

Sam said nothing. The look on Frodo’s face was enough for him; he knew that words of his were useless. And after all he never had any real hope in the affair from the beginning; but being a cheerful hobbit he had not needed hope, as long as despair could be postponed.

Smile! You’re on COVID Camera!

One unlooked-for byproduct of the COVID pandemic is that I have become more cheerful. And more sociable. I have made this observation before, but I’m still puzzled by it. Mainly, it comes from stubbornness. Much of my life, I’ve been morose and withdrawn. I have had good reason to be, or so it’s appeared. But there is something about this COVID nonsense that has awakened my inner optimist. Every time I rise above my depression to give a friend a call, I’m kicking COVID in its microscopic nuts.

I used to try to force cheerfulness and pleasantries. I’d try to censor my dark sense of humor (a bit) when I was in company. If anyone is reading this and thinking: what are you talking about? I’ve talked to you and your sense of humor is dark as shit! Yeah. You heard the stuff that got past the censors. A lot of even worse things did not make it to your ears. 

In retrospect, trying to force cheerfulness was a mistake. I realize that there are a lot of things it’s good to force. It’s good to go out and get exercise when you don’t want to. It’s good to try to be social when you don’t want to. (Up to a point. And here’s the really important point. It’s good to practice giving in and letting yourself rest sometimes.)

But lately I haven’t needed to force it. I want to go outside and see the sun. I want to read to my nieces and nephew. And yes, I want to chat with my friends, with my fiancée, with my brilliant writers.

My Advice is Don’t Take Advice from a Stranger on the Internet

If I had to boil that down to advice for people who have been down in the dumps lately, I would say: do force activity. Up to a point. Do not force cheerfulness. If you always force yourself to do things you don’t want to do, you’ll force yourself when you’re really not up to it. And that’s a recipe to hurt yourself. But if you are able to listen to your body and be honest with yourself, you’ll know when physical or emotional pain is a hump to get over and when it’s a legitimate barrier to your plans.

Be honest with people about where you are and what you need. If you don’t have the energy to clean up before inviting someone over, just warn them. Don’t apologize. Don’t cringe. Just warn them. Meeting with people means people meeting with you. And if you don’t let them meet you where you are, then the whole interaction will feel forced and unnatural. Which is exactly the opposite of what is needed for an interaction to be nourishing rather than exhausting.

Postscript

That’s it. That’s the essay. It’s not really supposed to come back to the beginning and tie off in a bow. If you read this and liked any part of it, I suggest you try it. It’s basically one level of polish above writing a journal-entry. Sometimes two, if I’m feeling fancy. And if you do try your hand at writing one, please get in contact with us about publishing it. Goodnight!