I Know It’s Not Manly To Admit It, But I’m Scared

This pandemic is freaking me the f**k out. How are you?

I have been reading articles about the coronavirus the way the android Data in Star Trek The Next Generation scans information — his cyborg eyes toggling back and forth over a computer screen. In the celebrated sci-fi show, Data is often asked to process reams of facts and figures with his powerful brain. In my real life, I want to scream because my puny brain can’t process this pandemic.

(On a side note: binge-watch Star Trek if you can. Any of them, really. Deep Space Nine, Voyager, Discovery. It’s comforting to watch a TV show whose basic premise is that humanity is smart and kind.)

For the past week, I have acted like a robot. A chubby Data with a beard. That’s how men are supposed to act in these situations, right? Rational Logical. Emotionless. The news is bleak. There are people in danger. I am strong and silent.

And then my eyes froze on a report that 54% of New York City residents who have tested positive for coronavirus are men between the ages of 18 and 49.

I don’t know why so many men under 50 are catching this virus. It could just be an unfortunate quirk of biology or maybe men aren’t taking this pandemic seriously. I suppose, at this moment, it doesn’t matter. The truth is I am not a synthetic lifeform with artificial intelligence. I’m just a 45-year-old man.

Reader, I have a confession to make. I’m scared. It’s easier to write those words than to say them out loud. When family members ask me how I’m doing I say “I’m doing the best I can.” Which is true. I am doing the best I can, all things considered. And those things that should be considered are 1. a highly infectious respiratory illness is sweeping the country 2. The only effective way to fight this virus is for countless millions of people to self-quarantine and 3. The economy is collapsing as a result.

I am doing the best I can considering the world I knew is gone and the world to come is unknown.

But I’m not going to bullshit you, reader. I’m scared of getting sick. I’m terrified of friends and family I love having tubes shoved down their throats. My neighbors are a pair of vulnerable elderly Chinese-Americans who take loving care of a blind 13-year-old Shih-Tzu. We keep our distance but the fear in their eyes breaks my heart.

What if I can’t pay my rent? Or my health insurance? What if I never get to sit outside and drink espresso while eating an almond croissant at that place around the corner that’s currently boarded up? I’m afraid the rest of my life will be nothing but grief. I feel like I’m living in a horror movie about a man who checks his temperature every five minutes.

I swear I will go to the gym if I’m ever able to go back to a gym.

I wish I were an android because then I could say things like “Statistically speaking, the odds of dying from coronavirus, also known as COVID-19, are very small.” But I am flesh and blood, not metal and wires. I’m pretty certain Data wouldn’t stress sweat because he heard a man cough behind him in line at the grocery store.

I’m scared and that slightly embarrasses me. But I can rally if I must. For instance, I can play a hero if you need it. I am a champion tough talker. I’ll do my best Winston Churchill impersonation and tell you we will meet this challenge. This country, and its people, will do what is required to defeat this pandemic. I’m pretty good at making the kinds of speeches Generals or coaches are known for. It’s really too bad I was never in the military or part of a sports team. Just know when I tell you that we will get through this that I am freaking out inside. I don’t know, maybe James Bond is constantly panicking. There should be an entire movie that’s just Bond crying in bed and meditating.

No, I’m just scared. I am not a robot, I am not a badass, I am not a superhero.

I am freaking out despite knowing the one thing that all epidemics have in common is that they end, eventually. I am losing it. And this isn’t the kind of fear that gives one an edge. For instance: if you’re lost in an alligator-infested swamp a little fear can help you navigate your way out. In high-stress situations, fear can sharpen senses and slow time down.

No, I’m just scared. I am not a robot, I am not a badass, I am not a superhero. I’m just a regular man trying to live through a once-in-a-lifetime pandemic and I can’t sleep at night.

I know men who will never admit to being scared. One friend of mine is buying ammunition in case his suburbs turn into Mad Max: Fury Road overnight. Another buddy is an ER nurse, and he is in full-on adrenaline-pumping battle mode. I talked to one of my best friends on the phone last night. We talked about his new girlfriend and watching Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers on Netflix and we exchanged meatloaf recipes. What I didn’t tell him is that I’m on edge. That I’m worried. In fact, we didn’t even mention that we’re both trapped in our apartments.

One of the many weird consequences of this pandemic is I’m talking on the telephone more than I have in a long time. I’m having these rambling, podcast-length conversations with old friends about this and that. I find human voices to be comforting. I never thought the dystopia I’d live through is the one where I can’t hug people I love.

I find myself ending conversations with a variation the line TV trash talk show host Jerry Springer would use at the end of his episodes: “Take care of yourself, and each other.”

What I should say is “I’m scared and I love you and we’re going to get through this together.”

So I’m sharing this with you, reader. A stranger. I need the practice, so thank you for reading this far. Here we go: I’m scared and I love you and we’re going to get through this together.