On risks and rewards
I am not throwing away, my, shot!
I can see some validity in the other side. I also don’t like other people’s rules and being told what to do, either. I think the question for me is how to do the right thing but still have compassion for others, including their beliefs.
“I guess it must be just us,” says my spouse, Janyce.
“What is just us? Oh, you mean what we are wearing? I’m perfectly comfortable like this,” I say.
We’re taking our same walk around the neighborhood, now passing by a family wearing shorts and sleeveless t-shirts, a mom and dad pushing a double baby stroller on the opposite side of the street. We’re both in long sleeves and long pants. I’m even in wool socks. Truth be told, I’m a little warm, but I didn’t want to put on a jog bra and I opted for another layer instead.
It’s turning to night outside, although still bright, street lamps coming on one-by-one, the end of another week, the end of a rainy Friday. I’m snapping pictures of our neighbors’ front steps as we walk by, trying to get some ideas, and looking at gardens. Our neighborhood is in bloom, and our neighbors take great pride in their yards and share our same love of flowers.
We’re not talking much, just walking. All week I have had an ear worm of every song from Hamilton in my brain and every once in awhile I sing one line out loud changing them every few feet or so like a someone is switching radio channels. “In New York, you can, be a new man,” “I am just like my country, I’m young, scrappy and hungry,” “To remind you of my love, da da da, duh da.”
“Okay, Kris, enough Hamilton,” says Janyce.
We keep walking. We both have our masks on around our chin, ready to pull them up if someone is about to pass us. But we’re largely alone in this. Joggers in our town don’t wear masks, neither do the cyclists, and to our dismay even some of the elderly folks out walking. Seems people would rather walk out into the street a bit, making an arc when we pass by them. And sadly, some don’t even bother with that.
I read an interview the other day where MIT’s Associate Professor of Anthropology Graham M. Jones said, “It’s truly astonishing that Americans have transformed a public health necessity into an ideological battleground of so-called virtue and vice signaling. This helps explain why the richest country in the world has one of the world’s highest rates of infection.” It’s easy to be angry and feel virtuous about the mask thing, but I’m also uncomfortable about being too righteous about anything, too. I never like it when I see my friends on Facebook announce to the world that anyone who disagrees with them can now unfriend them, that they don’t want any of that on their feed.
“Look at the sky,” says Janyce.
“Wow, that is beautiful,” I say.
I look up and out above the bushes, above the wooden cross fastened to the top of a structure on the church grounds. In the distance, along the horizon, a small patch of sky is lit up in pastel blues and pinks. It’s a tiny window opening in the heavy grey cloud cover. I follow the sky all the way across the street to the other side where one of the church buildings has long ago turned into a charter school. I remember when my kids were little, I gave some thought to enrolling them in that school, thinking maybe they would get more attention in a smaller classroom, but then I read about the school’s philosophy to teach kids character values. The tagline of the school says:
“Character Education is about helping students, know the good, love the good, and do the good.”
I was stopped right there. Whose good are they talking about? That word “good” is so subjective. What about context? What about critical thinking? What about changing your mind?
I decided pretty fast that the public school would be “good” enough for us, that none of their teachers would decide for them what their values would be, and all my life mistakes and triumphs would be played out in real time in full view of my kids. That would also be real teaching for them. It would be messy and full of contradictions. We’d all figure it out as we went along. We’d have a healthy debate. We’d make up our own minds.
I can see some validity in the other side. I also don’t like other people’s rules and being told what to do, either. I think the question for me is how to do the right thing but still have compassion for others, including their beliefs.
I have friends and colleagues who are barely leaving the house while I’m venturing back to restaurants outside and going back to a gym. I’ve weighed the risks and rewards and made an informed choice that’s right for me. I’m following the guidelines. But I also think there comes a point when you have to decide when your actions are too much about you and your beliefs and not enough about caring for others.
My friend Roger sent me this website the other day in one of our email chats and I’m addicted to it now. It’s called window-swap.com. It’s a series of high-definition video views out of windows from peoples’ homes all over the planet. Just the view out the window and the ambient sound. I love the metaphor of these windows. I love how we’re all looking out, staying inside and at home and giving up our world traveling as much as possible to protect each other. I love that we’re all one human race, one planet, even as our views both literally and figuratively are all different.
It’s Saturday morning and Janyce is up and in the kitchen with the dog. I heard the beeping of the coffee pot and propped my pillows up behind me so I can sit up straight.
“It must be nice. It must be ni-ice, to have coffee brought to your side,” I sing out.
“Haha, good one,” says Janyce, as she walks in with a cup for me. “But enough Hamilton.”