Life. Mental Health. Inspiration.
Have You Become Don Quixote During the Pandemic?
I tilted at windmills, but finally put my anger down. You can too.
It’s officially been a year with the world living in this ‘new normal’. There’s hope at the end of the proverbial tunnel, but we’re not there yet and all the challenges and restrictions have taken a toll and adapting is crucial to our well-being.
I lost sight of the greater good and struggled. Mightily.
I was Don Quixote.
“Life is not always fair. Sometimes you get a splinter sliding down a rainbow.” — Terri Guillements
I’m down in a corner of the map, near Melbourne, Australia, where we’ve endured some of the harshest lockdowns in the world. The other side of that coin is that our COVID-19 death toll is under 1,000 people as a nation.
I’m also American, watching the ruination from afar.
Two completely different approaches to the pandemic: the ‘let-it-rip’ take in the United States and the ‘we-have-3-new-cases, shut-it-down-now’ approach here Down Under.
Social and Media Drain
Working from home changed little in my life. I’m rather an introvert anyway, so no hardship. This won’t be tough… so I thought.
In that grand old year of 2019, my partner and I were in an enjoyable weekly routine. Dancing on Monday nights, swimming on Wednesday evenings, dinner and drinks out on a Friday or Saturday night, goodness for body and soul. Losing those ‘little’ things affected me much more than I knew.
Within weeks of the first wave and lockdown, I spent most of my mornings reading and ranting on social media. One laptop for work, idling; the other laptop, jousting with windmills, keyboard blazing.
I’d sip my first coffee and catch up on whatever had been happening in the states while I was sleeping. I’d engage, baiting and complaining, and argue with the unwashed and ignorant over Trump, COVID-19, guns or the latest conspiracy theory — and got myself angry.
With the American crap sorted, I turned my attention to Australian matters — the pandemic and lockdown, the ridiculous, half-assed rules and nanny preaching from the government, both state and federal — and got myself angrier.
It became a two-fisted approach. I was waging war on two fronts.
Duelling Citizen
Amidst all my ranting, I found that my American side clashed with my Australian side, and most Australians. Everyone around me seemed to just accept the limits and impositions of the lockdown. They rolled with it. I raged against it. It all added to my frustration, anger and eventually, depression.
I’d meet complaints in Australia about how the pandemic is being managed with “would you rather be like the United States?” which fuelled my rage. The two countries couldn’t be more different in their response. We’re at the complete opposite ends of the spectrum. My rant, one of many, was there is surely something in between. A cavernous void sits between those two options.
In the continuing aftermath of lockdowns and impinged rights, I railed and mourned the loss of travel the most. Living overseas, travel is a part of my life and I wouldn’t want it any other way. When the government took that away, well, that was no small fart in church. The stink still gets up my nose.
One difference between my two cultures that became clearly defined for me over this past year? American culture is individualistic; Australian culture is socialistic.
It’s taken me nine months to come to grips with that. I still struggle, that’s the American in me.
I was fighting a battle from within.
Man Down, Mama
Anyone living overseas is well aware of the time difference and the distance between here and there. It sits in the back recesses of your mind.
When Australia shutdown her borders, my first and only thought was if, how, when do I get back to see my elderly mother.
“Life is what happens to us while we are making other plans.” — Allen Saunders
While I was focusing on that concern, my son went down. Fast. Within minutes he went from walking under his own power to me, dragging him into the emergency room. Minutes later he was in an induced coma and on life support.
At the beginning of the pandemic, the government’s mantra was “Flatten the Curve”. With case numbers far lower than most other places in the world, I thought it overkill.
When a healthy, 20-year-old young man goes down, and he’s yours? You’re forever grateful that there was plenty of room for him in the hospital, and when the ventilator in the emergency room wasn’t strong enough to bring him back, that there was a stronger machine upstairs in ICU.
Finding My Zen
I have turned down the volume on social media. Way down. Raging against the world via social media can easily become an endless loop; everyone preaching to the choir inside an echo chamber.
I’ve spent time in the shed building and creating. Projects now sit as furniture in our patio. My road bike gets a regular run. I’ve looked after birds abandoned to us and who now have a happy home. I’ve even bonsai’d and now have a little garden going in the shade and I’ve re-connected with family and friends, albeit the less traditional way. And my reading and writing have benefited too.
This isn’t over, so it’s an ongoing challenge, but hopefully I’ve stopped battling.
Last Song
Whatever anger and frustration I’ve endured over the past year has been self-inflicted. Real-world issues, but first world complaints. The wars and battles I fought were draining me, and it was completely unhealthy.
Everyone has good years and poor years. 2020 was exceptionally bad because it was universal. We all went through a tough time at the same time. But as an individual, was it really a far worse year? It was for some, yes; for me, no.
Life rolls on and crap happens. It’s not personal. How I internalise it and handle it is.
What the past 12 months has taught me? In a (chest) nut shell, focusing on what I can control and letting go what I can’t and that the greater good also benefits me in the long run, as it does for us all.
Travel and living abroad have been my greatest teachers. One teacher is muted, for now, but I’m still learning.
And Monday night dancing is back. Hey, it’s a start.
