Conundrum.
My close friend Chuck was recently moved into hospice care as he neared the end of his battle with glioblastoma. People take turns bringing meals to his family and offering other kinds of support, because that’s what friends do.
I believe humans are genetically driven to create meaningful connections with other people, then stick with them (and they with us) in times of trouble. A friend is not just a random tree in a forest. Friends’ roots become intertwined as they pass through the seasons together. When a friend needs us, it’s a no-brainer. We help.
But when a group, culture, or population is in trouble — at the scale of the Amazon rainforest, let’s say — it can be hard to see the tree for the forest.
To comprehend a cry for help at a massive scale, we must engage our brains to understand root causes like trends, politics, history, resources, ecosystems, and injustices. We must confront enemies and uninformed friends. We must be willing to recognize our mistakes, whether in facts or perception, and adjust our actions accordingly. We must work hard and stay the course, even if there’s no end in sight.
Systemic problems are the opposite of no-brainers, and this is why most people don’t undertake them. It’s not that they don’t care. It’s that in order to make a difference, they can’t ONLY care.
My friend died on Thursday. He was full of great ideas, curiosity and artistic talent, things the world needs and his wife and son will so sorely miss. His medical team was terrific, and in that one way he was lucky, because healthcare as a system in the United States is neither healthy nor symbiotic. The sum is often less than the whole of its parts.
The day before my friend passed away, the 100,000th person in the U.S. died of COVID-19.
The U.S. has the greatest number of active coronavirus cases in the world; in fact, the country is closing in on having 1/3 of the total cases worldwide (as of today, our death toll has risen to 105,529). Yet city by city and state by state, people are digging in and taking sides, seemingly unable to adapt to a paradoxical world where we both reignite the economy and wear masks.
Tuesday, the day before that 100,000th person died, George Floyd suffocated to death under the knee of his arresting police officer.
George Floyd died because a white man was so mad on unchecked power, racism and adrenaline that he could not respond to very clear articulations of “I can’t breathe” and “I’m going to die.” Until George died.
As I say good-bye to my friend, hundreds of thousands of other people across the country are trying to figure out how to carry on without the person they loved. Their grief is amplified because they know all too well what’s happening to the forest and the trees.... not just what we can see above ground but deep below the surface. Can you feel it too? That unsteadiness in the earth below your feet is the crumbling of our collective roots.
There’s little doubt that 2020 will leave a lasting impact on our lives. But what will that impact be? Will 2020 be the year we fearfully retreat into a lifestyle of self-isolation? Or is this the year we turn down the volume of our curated newsfeeds, put our ears to the ground, and really listen?
The answer, I hope, is a no-brainer.