So Many Things To Love
If you’re like me, it’s hard to fathom we’re headed into the 6th year of the Covid-19 pandemic. It's even harder to accept that the rest of the world is more committed than ever to ignoring it. I’ve remained just as committed to avoiding risk as much as possible to protect myself and others. This year’s holidays were extra bittersweet for me as I realized I’ve hit a turning point.
While digging our Christmas tree out of storage last month, I came across a stack of Christmas cards I'd received over the past few years. The number of cards I usually get started to dwindle from the dozens I collected in 2021 when I announced to friends and family I wouldn’t be showing up for any in-person gatherings. There were fewer in 2022, fewer still in 2023. Friends and family have grown less understanding of my need to avoid social situations which are unsafe for everyone, but especially me, as new illness might worsen my Long Covid and make my life even more difficult.
This year, I got two cards in the mail. I suppose I should feel sad or angry that it was so easy for people I know to forget about me once I set boundaries for my safety. Instead, I’m relieved. Once folks made it clear they couldn’t be bothered to meet outdoors, wear a mask and/or take a test to be around me, I understood there was no longer a place for me in their lives. I was pushed out of the space they once held for me by their overwhelming love for normalcy.
I’ve had multiple Covid-related discussions with these folks over the past few years. Earlier in the pandemic, most of them were unaware the continued unmitigated spread of Covid is harming all of us. I recognized they were prone to normalcy bias and were victims of misinformation/disinformation. I did my best to share reliable information and respirators with anyone who showed the slightest bit of interest in what I had to say. With a couple of short-lived exceptions, most people were resistant to such offers and would quickly tune me out.
They’d still send me a text every now and then to say hi. They’d still wish me a happy birthday.
They’d still send a Christmas card.
Most of them don’t anymore. And I’m thankful.
This past year, my Covid-related conversations took a dark turn. I’ve found that by now, most people know better than the ‘pandemic is over and Covid is now mild’ lie we’ve been fed since 2021. As a former co-worker told me earlier in the year, “Yeah, I’ve seen the news. I’ve read some of the studies. I know it’s bad. I know it’s wrecking our health. But I’m just not willing to go back to living like it’s 2020.”
Most adults I know are no longer uninformed, which means they're no longer blindly following the crowd. They're making a conscious, informed decision to ignore the facts which spell out the ongoing harm to themselves and others.
Our collective moral foundation has been slowly shifting since the start of this pandemic, but this past year, it took a violent shove in a dangerous direction. The divide between where I stand and where the majority of my family and friends are is too far and wide now. There’s no middle ground left.
And I’m ok with that.
I don’t want it to be this way forever. I continue to hope and pray that people will wake up and choose to resist the mainstream acceptance of living with a virus which kills and disables thousands of people around the world every day. But until that happens – if it ever happens – I am on sabbatical from the battles I’ve fought over these past few years.
I’m tired of defending myself. I’m done with trying to justify my desire to not suffer any more than I do already. I’m exhausted from explaining why my need to stay alive supersedes any mental health benefits of eating in restaurants or going to parties and concerts.
I’m tired of trying to convince people that it is morally wrong to endanger the safety and lives of others when simple, reasonable measures make it unnecessary to risk such harm.
I’ve spent the past few years fighting such battles out of love for the people I hoped would listen.
Life with Long Covid is hard enough without being on the defensive all the time. I realize now it’s time to invest my love where it is welcomed and wanted, where it will be received warmly and returned in equal measure.
I will invest this love in my spouse, who has been steadfast in keeping us as safe as possible from the very beginning. And in our kids, who are struggling with the burdens of new health issues likely caused by the repeat Covid infections forced on them over the past few years. And in our dogs, who ensure I am never lonely in my isolated existence. And in the wonderful Covid-Cautious people and communities I’ve connected with online. You remind me daily that I’m not alone. You help me find the strength to keep going. You give me hope that tomorrow might be brighter than today. I love you for it. Thank you.
I will commit to putting more effort into showing love to myself. I need to work on being more mindful. I need to eat better and get more sleep. I need to be more present for the ones who love me. I need to do more writing and be a better steward of this gift I've been given. I need to be kinder to myself all the way around.
The rest of the world has shifted. I’m shifting too. I have work to do.
You could call it a labor of love.
I woke up this morning thinking about the movie ‘Year of the Dog,’ in which Molly Shannon plays a woman who loses her beloved beagle. In an effort to fill the void, she goes on a series of misadventures which leave everyone in her life worried about her and wishing she could be just a bit more…normal. In the end, she finds new meaning for her life by finding something new to love.
I hope you’ll take a couple of minutes to watch this clip from the movie. It's especially relatable for those of us in the Covid-Cautious community.
As 2024 winds to a close, I want to wish you peace, comfort, and connection. In spite of the dysfunctional state of the world, I still hold hope for a better future for all of us.
And I still believe there are so many things to love.
I wish you an abundance of it as we turn the page on a new year.
In good humor and solidarity,
Guiness Pig
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