Warring Against Apathy

As we approach day forty of the stay-at-home (or quarantine or lockdown or whatever-you-want-to-call-it) era, I've noticed a bit of a shift. Maybe you've noticed it, too.

Remember a few weeks ago when you received regular text messages, phone calls, invitations to video chats, and the like? Maybe you even created a schedule for checking in with friends and family. This, of course, came after the initial panic subsided. Remember the panic days? The "oh crap, people are going to start rioting over toilet paper" days? When you probably started looking around your home to see what you could use as currency when cash or debit/credit stopped being an option? No, you moved beyond that and could start thinking outside of yourself, making sure your loved ones had what they needed, including some semblance of mental health.

So part of your routine included these check-ins. We've become familiar with Zoom, Google Hang-outs (or Meetings), Microsoft Teams, Skype, et cetera. My wife and I have participated in a couple virtual happy hours and even a virtual game night (thanks to Hollywood Paul, not Paul Hollywood).

My hobbit friend (you may remember him as the guy who called me at mile twenty of his first--and only--marathon, walking in circles, doubting he could finish) recently asked me how I was doing with the pandemic and staying at home. After a moment or two, I responded to his text with "warring against apathy."

On a family walk in our beloved Mill Creek Park, my teenage son and I were discussing this very thing, kind of reflecting on our mental states. As he tried to articulate his emotions, he looked at me and said, "Is 'apathy' the right word here?" "Exactly," I responded. (I'm regularly impressed with and proud of my kids, but sometimes they really get it.)

See, we're all--like, the entire world--working through the stages of grief here. Everyone is mourning a loss, after all, whether it's the loss of a loved one or simply the former way of life. And I believe most of us are currently in the depression stage, the place where we feel numb, exhausted, and certainly empty. Maybe you even feel hopeless, maybe helpless. It's the stage where people withdraw, hole up somewhere, and wonder whether or not it's worth charging ahead. (It's mile twenty when you call your friend from the marathon course.)

But I say charge ahead, friends! What you feel is not always true or reliable. Take up those text messages and phone calls again. Schedule another round of virtual game night. Take a walk or go for a run (by yourself or only with the people in your home). After all, when asked several years ago by a nascent runner what I do when I don't have the motivation to run, I answered, "Discipline is motivation."