On fear, uncertainty, and choosing to be the best in people
I’ve been thinking about what I wanted to say during a time like this.
Nothing I came up with felt quite right. Do I write my usual things? Talk about books? Update you on the kids or what we’ve been cooking?
Sometimes words fail us. But sometimes, they’re all we have.
Nothing feels normal right now. I feel like we’re all starring in some surreal pandemic movie — everything around us strange and dreamlike. Nothing grounded. Nothing real.
I keep wondering…
Will I ever…?
Will we ever…?
Will we ever sit down at a restaurant again, laughing over dinner with our friends?
Will I ever run into a store and just… grab some toilet paper and canned fruit again, no panic, no hesitation?
Will we ever go back to life as it was — when businesses weren’t closing their doors, when shelves weren’t empty, when we didn’t constantly have to worry whether the food in our cupboards would last a week, two, a month?
Will I ever stop looking at my coworkers or friends and instinctively stepping back… back… back… because all I see is risk?
I don’t have anything profound to offer. Nothing life-altering or wise. Because the truth is: nothing is normal right now. And we don’t know when — or if — it will be again.
I know when this eventually passes, my entire perspective will have shifted. I’ve never lived through a time where I had to worry about having enough diapers for my children or enough food for my family. I worry now.
Will we have enough?
What if the stores stay empty?
What if this is still going on two months from now?
What will people resort to?
What will happen to us — to humanity?
Will we become better people?
Will we become worse people?
I’ve seen the worst in people during all of this. Hoarding cleaning supplies. Reselling them at obscene prices. Fighting in store aisles. Acting out of fear, desperation, and selfishness.
But I’ve seen the best in people too. A coworker’s husband — someone I’ve met maybe once — grabbing diapers for my son on his way to the store. A friend of a friend — someone I’ve never met — finding the last package of pull-ups, then passing them along through a chain of people so I could get them. A family friend dropping off milk because we were running low and the baby drinks it daily. A coworker bringing in chicken and potatoes for another who helped me. The kindness ripples.
We are living through the strangest, scariest time I’ve ever known. And still, some people are choosing to think of others. To help. To ask, “What do you need? How can I help?”
I wasn’t scared at first. But every day it gets harder not to be. I live with your run-of-the-mill, everyday, garden-variety anxiety. I’ve spent years learning to keep it in check. To internalize it. To keep moving through it. So I remain calm — for now — because that’s what I’ve trained myself to do.
But we’re doing things I never imagined. Emergency meetings. Work schedules slashed in half. Six medical appointments canceled in one week. Schools shut down for who knows how long. Everything changing by the day — sometimes by the hour. No one knows what next week will bring. Or tomorrow. Or this afternoon.
And that scares me.
I never imagined I’d live through a pandemic. None of us were prepared. We’re all just… adjusting. My anxiety is usually about the future, and now the future is more uncertain than it’s ever been. That makes it worse. That makes it harder.
Today felt strange. Tomorrow will be stranger. Scarier. And that’s okay to admit.
I won’t tell you to stay calm.
I won’t tell you it will all be okay.
Because I don’t know. You don’t know. None of us do.
What I can tell you is this:
We still get to decide who we are.
We still get to choose our response.
We still get to be kind — even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.
So be scared if you need to.
Cry if you have to.
But as much as you can…
choose to be the best in people.
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