#4 / The World Is A Narrow Bridge
Hi everyone,
Greetings from week three of self-quarantine. In Chicago we are now under shelter-in-place until the end of April at minimum. McCormick Place, our ungodly-large convention center, is now a 3,000-bed field hospital. The lakefront, parks, playgrounds, and the hip 606 biking trail are all shuttered. Mayor Lori Lightfoot has been Very Serious about enforcing this, which spawned some fun memes.
Credit: Josh Fontenot
While we in Illinois are somewhat ahead of the game compared to the feds and some other areas of the country, all the same, it feels like our leaders and elected officials have been a step late on every move. We closed the parks only because too many people were picnicking and playing pickup soccer, and we closed the bars and restaurants only after we saw hordes out bar-hopping at 8 A.M. the Saturday before St. Patrick’s Day.
When we were kids, we all had moments when we realized our parents weren’t perfect, that they could be unreliable or distracted, or more. We scraped our knee, or we wetted our diaper, and we cried out, but perhaps it took a moment before anyone came to save us. It feels like that’s happening now, only we are the adults, and we can see how unprepared anyone is to heal our wounds. We know we can’t do it all ourselves — so much is beyond our control — but at least we’re capable of forming mutual aid societies, of volunteering to staff food banks or call vulnerable community members, of buying gift cards from and donating to our cherished neighborhood businesses.
Where’s the money and support for the people who matter? Where’s the physical and financial and regulatory protection for our health care professionals, our grocery store clerks, our factory workers, and our delivery drivers? Where’s the assurance for people who opened up a small business in part because we taught them that this is the American dream, and are now left to face this crisis alone? None of this is new and I could write an essay on how coronavirus didn’t create all this injustice, only surfaced it and inflamed it.
We’ve walked through a doorway, onto a narrow bridge, and we can’t turn back now, but neither can we see where the bridge leads — we can’t know where we’re going. According to Jewish tradition, this has always been the state of the world.
Credit: JFS Seattle
But it feels like now there is also fog all around us, and we can barely see in front of our faces.
(Hat-tip to our therapist, by the way, for these metaphors.)
And I know that even still, Ashley and I are fortunate to have two stable jobs, a sturdy, nourishing home to shelter in, and the financial resources to ride out this economic hurricane. We’re even lucky in the way this pandemic is happening now, and not in March 2019, when Ashley was in the middle of her residency, or in March 2018, when we were setting up our house in Omaha as an AirBnB, which was crucial to making the whole Chicago thing even work.
We have doubts about whether we’re doing enough. And the truth is, anything we can do could never be as much as the whole world needs. But the truth is also that something is better than nothing. And we need to take care of ourselves, keep ourselves healthy, if we hope to contribute.
This week, we will go on walks. We will play Animal Crossing. We will watch Tiger King. And then, we will go to work.
Reading
I wrote more than usual in the next session, so here’s a couple quick links. First, some perspective on plagues — turns out humans have been surviving them for a long time. (Happy Pesach!)
What Social Distancing Looked Like in 1666 by Annalee Newitz
Government representatives and doctors quickly used social distancing methods for containing the spread of bubonic plague. Charles II issued a formal order in 1666 that ordered a halt to all public gatherings, including funerals. Already, theaters had been shut down in London, and licensing curtailed for new pubs. Oxford and Cambridge closed.
Isaac Newton was one of the students sent home, and his family was among the wealthy who fled the cities so they could shelter in place at their country homes. He spent the plague year at his family estate, teasing out the foundational ideas for calculus.
Things were less cozy in London. Quarantining was invented during the first wave of bubonic plague in the 14th century, but it was deployed more systematically during the Great Plague. Public servants called searchers ferreted out new cases of plague, and quarantined sick people along with everyone who shared their homes. People called warders painted a red cross on the doors of quarantined homes, alongside a paper notice that read “LORD HAVE MERCY UPON US.” (Yes, the all-caps was mandatory.)
The government supplied food to the housebound. After 40 days, warders painted over the red crosses with white crosses, ordering residents to sterilize their homes with lime. Doctors believed that the bubonic plague was caused by “smells” in the air, so cleaning was always recommended. They had no idea that it was also a good way to get rid of the ticks and fleas that actually spread the contagion.
And, from a behavioral neurologist (sounds legit), a piece on what anxiety actually is, brain-wise, and how to live with it.
A Brain Hack to Break the Coronavirus Anxiety Cycle by Judson A. Brewer, MD
To hack our brains and break the anxiety cycle, we need to become aware of two things: that we are getting anxious or panicking and what the result is. This helps us see if our behavior is actually helping us survive, or in fact moving us in the opposite direction — panic can lead to impulsive behaviors that are dangerous; anxiety is both acutely mentally and physically weakening and a slow burn that has more long-term health consequences.
Once we are aware of how unrewarding anxiety is, we can then deliberately bring in the “bigger better offer.” Since our brains will choose more rewarding behaviors simply because they feel better, we can practice replacing old habitual behaviors — such as worry — with those that are naturally more rewarding.
Mood
Adam Schlesinger, co-founder of Fountains of Wayne and the guy who wrote the song “That Thing You Do!,” among many other incredible songs, passed away this week from COVID-19 complications.
In the grand scheme, Fountains of Wayne is not a popular band. In fact they fit the traditional definition of one-hit wonder, thanks to “Stacy’s Mom.” But among fans they’re regarded as a band that should be way more famous than they are. They’re the kind of band that would be so underrated they’re overrated, except they’re so good it’s not possible to overrate them.
I listened to “Stacy’s Mom” on MTV, sophomore year of college — this is how old I am, that MTV still showed music videos when I was in college — and something about it compelled me to go beyond the single. I distinctly remember being blown away by the immaculate guitar-pop bliss of Welcome Interstate Managers and realizing for the first time that it’s possible for a (relatively) unheard-of band to be better musicians than 99% of the heard-of bands.
Ever since, Fountains of Wayne has been a trusted companion. I struggle to define their sound and approach, because it’s as if they’ve assimilated the entire history of pop and rock into cleverly-crafted gems about desperate office temps and corporate suburban American. Mature whimsy? Cheeky melancholia?
Schlesinger was the bassist and key songwriter in the band, and notably not the front man. He also had an amazing second career as a writer for TV and film, and by all reports was a fantastic human being. I’ve learned in the last few days how stellar a role model he is for any burgeoning artist: put your head down, do the work, have fun, don’t worry about credit, put craft above glitz. Make people happy.
I’m not one to choke up over celebrity deaths. But whether it’s because of all the underlying grief I’m feeling right now about what we’ve all lost, or the tragedy of how he died, or the intimacy I feel with Adam’s music, or the fact that he is my kind of celebrity, the skilled and hard-working professional creative who is content to do his thing behind the scenes and let others shine — his death hit me.
I literally yelled out “no!” when a co-worker broke the news. We commiserated together and shared memories of connecting to the band’s music, and I read some of the outpourings of tribute on the internet. And I didn’t know if I wanted to listen to Fountains of Wayne, because it felt really raw, but I put on Welcome Interstate Managers and I listened and listened, and then when “Valley Winter Song” came on I cried, long and hard.
But it was a happy cry — does that make sense? I was smiling as I cried. I was relieved at the release. And it lasted all day, this feeling. I felt a fullness in my chest well through dinnertime, and a lightness of spirit.
Thanks for the music, Adam.
If you’re intrigued, here’s a piece on his best tunes:
Fountains of Wayne’s Adam Schlesinger: 20 Essential Songs
Here’s a Tiny Desk Concert (stick around for the quip before the last song).
And this. It happens to be a song about being stuck in the house and not being able to go outside. (And actually, Chris Collingwood, the lead singer and rhythm guitarist, wrote it — he’s also lovely and deserves mucho credit for this stuff.)
Fountains of Wayne — Valley Winter Song
And the snow is coming down
On our New England town
And it’s been falling all day long
What else is new?
What can I do?
But sing this valley winter song
I wrote for you
Valley Winter Song - song by Fountains Of Wayne | Spotify
Fountains Of Wayne · Song · 2003
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