I miss my housekeeper. I suppose most people do. Especially those with kids or coinhabitants who don't pitch in. But that's not why I miss my housekeeper. Laura and I are neat to a fault and eager to do mindless cleaning chores that give us a mental break. Our house is as clean and organized as it always is. There is no change there.
The change is that I don't get to see Jacinta once a week. I don't get to joke with her about the weather or ask about her daughter and grandson and their latest adventures. I don't get to visually verify that she is okay and the world is going on as it does. I don't have the luxury of knowing someone even more OCD than me is taking care of me, sorting my shoes by size and color and aligning them perfectly in my closet after sweeping and mopping the floor underneath them. I don't get to share these small, concrete, daily decencies with someone I've known for nine years.
I lost some of my best friends this year. That brought home how much these small decencies change us for the better, and how shocking and demoralizing it can be when you know one node of your decency exchange network has winked out of service. It feels like your back is exposed.
Today I miss my housekeeper because my back is a little more exposed.
One day soon I know my wife will head to the healthcare frontlines. We are each other's biggest stars. For that node to wink out would irrevocably cripple our network. That is the worst-case scenario, that one of us will leave the other alone to keep fighting for humanity, half-mauled. The thing is that this worst-case scenario is always true. No virus or war changes it. It is always the worst-case threat. Maybe just a little more probable in the next year than average. It doesn't change our resolve. If it did, it would fundamentally change who we are. We are the ones that help. We are the ones that put those small decencies first and above all else. We take care of ourselves, so we can take of each other. If this network does go down, if one of us winks out, then our web of love is gonna sparkle the holy shit out of the darkest night first.
It isn't heroism, or even courage, that fuels this resolve. It is desperation to keep alive the only thing we have learned endures beyond all deaths: compassion.
Compassion is the thing that has compelled us to socially isolate from our families so that Laura cannot possibly carry any illness into the ICU, and so that Laura can stay healthy enough to work when her colleagues are first up and first ill. Compassion will compel us to isolate from each other as soon as she treats her first patient--so I stay unexposed long enough to care for her when she acquires it and we don't burden resources simultaneously. Compassion compels us to think ahead and figure out what we need to do today to ensure we can perform some small, daily decencies tomorrow and maybe the day after too, if possible. Compassion compels us to pay attention to the small decencies we have today: the kiss over a cup of tea one brings the other, the hug in the laundry room between loads, and the virtual happy hour with our family that we still get to have sitting next to one another, for now.
Maybe compassion is courage.
The change is that I don't get to see Jacinta once a week. I don't get to joke with her about the weather or ask about her daughter and grandson and their latest adventures. I don't get to visually verify that she is okay and the world is going on as it does. I don't have the luxury of knowing someone even more OCD than me is taking care of me, sorting my shoes by size and color and aligning them perfectly in my closet after sweeping and mopping the floor underneath them. I don't get to share these small, concrete, daily decencies with someone I've known for nine years.
I lost some of my best friends this year. That brought home how much these small decencies change us for the better, and how shocking and demoralizing it can be when you know one node of your decency exchange network has winked out of service. It feels like your back is exposed.
Today I miss my housekeeper because my back is a little more exposed.
One day soon I know my wife will head to the healthcare frontlines. We are each other's biggest stars. For that node to wink out would irrevocably cripple our network. That is the worst-case scenario, that one of us will leave the other alone to keep fighting for humanity, half-mauled. The thing is that this worst-case scenario is always true. No virus or war changes it. It is always the worst-case threat. Maybe just a little more probable in the next year than average. It doesn't change our resolve. If it did, it would fundamentally change who we are. We are the ones that help. We are the ones that put those small decencies first and above all else. We take care of ourselves, so we can take of each other. If this network does go down, if one of us winks out, then our web of love is gonna sparkle the holy shit out of the darkest night first.
It isn't heroism, or even courage, that fuels this resolve. It is desperation to keep alive the only thing we have learned endures beyond all deaths: compassion.
Compassion is the thing that has compelled us to socially isolate from our families so that Laura cannot possibly carry any illness into the ICU, and so that Laura can stay healthy enough to work when her colleagues are first up and first ill. Compassion will compel us to isolate from each other as soon as she treats her first patient--so I stay unexposed long enough to care for her when she acquires it and we don't burden resources simultaneously. Compassion compels us to think ahead and figure out what we need to do today to ensure we can perform some small, daily decencies tomorrow and maybe the day after too, if possible. Compassion compels us to pay attention to the small decencies we have today: the kiss over a cup of tea one brings the other, the hug in the laundry room between loads, and the virtual happy hour with our family that we still get to have sitting next to one another, for now.
Maybe compassion is courage.
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| My favorite coffee cup at work. I miss that too. Maybe compassion is courage. |
Love you both so much!
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