Reflections on Life Under COVID-19

On Tues, Mar 10th I felt the first inkling that something was not quite right with my neck.  I shrugged it off.  "It'll sort itself out, it always does -- if not I'll visit a friend who is a chiropractor." 

For the vast majority of my life, my body has been invincible.  I've fallen out of trees, off roofs, had horseback riding accidents and so many other situations -- and like that kids toy that you punch and it pops right up -- that was me.  Shake it off ... stand up ... get on with it. 

But this time was different.  

The following morning came the muscle spasms, the rash, the burning pain, stiffness, headaches and a lethargy that made made me feel like a zombie for the last 10 days.  Yup, I got shingles.  Or more accurately, I got a wake up call that I can't burn the candle at both ends and expect my body to have the kind of resiliency to stay healthy. I don't have to use 16 hours of every 24 engaged in some kind of work.  

Here is the reality: there will never be and end to my "lists" and there will be no day when magically I can declare "I did it all, its done." 

The sad reality is that over the years I've turned into something of a work-a-holic.  I keep a kind of religious observance of the work ethic. My shrine is my man cave. The relics are the tools.  In the US, this way of being is not only raised up as some paragon of good citizenship (the hard working American lionized by the WPA), but approved of and lauded as "industrious."  We are a nation of work-a-holics. 

I never learned how to rest. 

[sarcastically] I must congratulate myself on the timing of this illness.  It powerfully aligned with COVID-19, the shutting down of Powell House and my other work obligations.  It was like pressing pause on a video -- and just like that everything came to a grinding halt.  One day I was laying concrete and the next I was lying in bed.  Inert and motionless like a block of cement (if you lie still your skin doesn't burn as much). 

Shingles does have a way of focusing the mind.  When all you have is pain, the only thing you can focus on is pain.  Pain becomes a COP swearing at you and ordering you around --- "HALT, DON'T DO THAT, OR THAT, AND DON'T DO THAT EITHER!" .  If you don't listen to the pain messages the shingles pain cop will place you under arrest.  

Since illness is an "acceptable form of idleness" I decided to use the time to reflect.  Here's what has bubbled up: 

• Why do I feel so scared about being idle? 
  • I noticed that my busy-ness (business) was a way to avoid emotional pain. And I have lots of it.  I've had small outlets for much of the pain I've felt over the past few years. I've had opportunities to acknowledge the anger, fear and hopelessness of our political situation, but the expression of the pain without very many outward signs that the world is moving in the right direction was just another source of pain.  It really is best expressed as impotence bordering on deep cynicism and resignation.  I don't even want to notice these feelings -- to do so seems like a personal failing. Americans have to be optimistic, right? 
• Why can't I even say the word REST and then take some?
  • Rest: to cease work or movement in order to relax, refresh oneself, or recover strength.
  • Here is a crazy thought, when I am on vacation (and I have taken some vacation time) most of what I do is worry about what is going on in my absence.  It really takes me a week to stop obsessing over stuff. 
• I keep hearing the work memes of my youth
  • "To rest is to rust"
  • "You can rest when your dead"
  • "If you're self employed there is no rest - you have to constantly think about your business"
• Work = Money = Security.  
  • There is no getting around the money reality in a capitalist society.  Money makes our lives work.  No money, no work-a-bility.  We've agreed (maybe) on this medium of exchange.  There is a "this for that" mentality and for everything we want and need money is a part of the transaction.  Getting sick was something I utterly pushed out of my mind.  Being infirm, handicapped, unable to work, or limited in any way scares the hell out of me.  As an American male I'm guessing that I am not alone in this.  There are fixed roles laid out for us.  Bread winner is one of them.  I am not immune to the fixed societal conversations that put labels on men.  I happily put on that yoke at the age of 14, the day I got my working papers, and I have never taken it off. 
  • Work meme from my youth: "there's no free lunch"
• Who am I if I am not "useful?" 
  • Part of the resistance to taking "down time" is that I don't really know who I am if I am not engaged in something. I heard the ruling elite call useless people "unnecessary feeders."  That sent a shiver down my spine.  The reality that I have been dealing with is that I have utterly lacked imagination when it comes to re-inventing myself after being a doctor for so many years.  It feels like I took off a suit of clothes fit me well and these clothes I got from the Good Will pinch me in the shoulders, the pants are too long, and the inseam is too narrow.   I did the mental gymnastics when I became a carpenter that "service is service" and it does not really matter how or where you make a difference ... only that you do make a difference ... but my body seems to have other ideas on this matter. 
  • I am now going to have to reconsider the premises upon which I am building my current life. Is it sustainable? Does it offer enough personal satisfaction? Does it feel useful? Does it offer enough rest?  
• What if none of it matters (my mental machinations)? 
  • What if it is all just random, empty and meaningless that this particular virus struck me down?  Is it possible that the context I've placed it in doesn't matter?  Given any situation, is context important? 

Maybe none of it matters, however, we humans are meaning making machines and we tend to believe our own stories.  So since there will be some story -- I'm going to distinguish my old story as "I have to work hard and I don't feel like I have time to rest" and am revising my current context to the this story "I choose work and I choose rest and I get to say when and how much and I am going to honor and listen to my body wisdom about how much is enough." 

And there is one last important piece of this message -- since I am the author of my story, I get to say how true it is, how good a fit it is for me, how well it is serving me --- and I get the choice to revise it any time I darn well please!

Given this POV -- context is decisive. 

Joseph Olejak

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