Navigating Life in a Whackadoodle World
Installment Two: The Intervention
Last week, we left our intrepid Whackadoodlians at the precipice of their next journey through the fourteen guideposts. If you missed the MUST READ PROLOGUE to their journey, here’s a link before you proceed.
And now, without further ado, chapter two of...
Navigating Life in A Whackadoodle World
Chapter Two: The Intervention
“The Art of Wisdom is the art of knowing what to overlook.”
William James, The Will to Believe and Other Essays in Popular Psychology, 1897
My bus arrived five minutes early and nearly empty. I waved my pass at the driver with a pleasant good morning and headed to my preferred seat at the back of the bus, snuggled up in the far right corner. It's warmest there without getting too hot and the right sides stay shaded during my commute into work. Shade is important since my iPad becomes useless in direct sunlight.
I settled in for the hour ride with my backpack slung across my lap, my earphones firmly planted in my ears, and my iPad opened up to the first of four games that I allow myself to play. I felt the bus rumbling beneath me and slid my feet against the seat in front of me.
I wasn't aware of them at first, but eventually I felt their eyes on me--all 14 pair. Of course it was fourteen pair. It had to be fourteen pair. After all, I was the one who had written about them. Had it really been fourteen years ago? Wonder if that's a coincidence, "I thought to myself ruefully."
I snuck a peek out of the corner of my eye. I was wrong. It wasn't 14 pair of eyes, it was considerably more since two of them had multiple heads. I took a deep breath to steady myself, slowly pulled the ear plugs from my ears and looked up.
The seats around me were filled with the oddest assortment of well, I wouldn't call them people, but for lack of a better word, people will have to do. There were 14 of them.
"At last some quiet," sighed one of them, a man with hypnotic eyes.
I stared at them, and they stared at me. I mean, what does one say when the constructs of one's imagination suddenly appear? A million questions swirled through my brain, but my mouth only managed one word. "What?"
The head closest to me me cleared his throats. I say a head because it was one of two heads sitting atop one body, neither male, nor female.
"First, we want you to know that we care about you," said the mostly male head. "We are concerned about you," added the mostly female head. Ad suddenly everyone was talking at once. I caught some of the words: "focus...habit...floundering...doldrums."
"ONE AT A TIME," yelled an Asian man sitting seven seats down. He was dressed in a lab coat and looked for all the world like my tenth grade physics teacher. "That's better," he continued as everyone settled down, "We agreed to follow a process. We each take turns." The group murmured in agreement and turned their eyes back to me. I sunk a little lower in my seat.
The mostly male head cleared his throat again. Shifting a bit awkwardly, he turned to look at the mostly female head attached to him. "Do you want to go first or should I?" he asked.
"Well, I think we are pretty sure of the effects. She's stopped trying. She takes no action. She's adrift with no direction," replied the mostly female head.
"True," he nodded and turned his brooding eyes towards me. "She so stuck in the doldrums that she hasn't even been thinking about us."
"It is because she's been ignoring the explorer and me," interrupted the three headed man who sat five seats down. It was the left head who had spoken. He nodded at the head in the middle and added, "She's been letting this mindless idiot take over." The mindless idiot next to him paid no attention, but simply sat with his earphones on and iPad in hand. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.
"You'll get your turn," the Asian physics teacher said sternly. "Go on," he nodded toward the mostly male head.
"So what are the causes of her doldrums?" muttered the mostly male head.
"I don't know," I yelled, suddenly feeling overwhelmed and angry.
"And the yelling helps?" He asked gently. "Ignoring the question is working? You, of all people should know better."
I mumbled an unintelligible response, not willing to commit to anything.
"So what are the causes of your doldrum?" He asked again. I stared at him.
"She's ignoring me again,” called the right head sitting on the three headed man. His brother on the left nodded vigorously, adding, "We've never been her favorites." The head in the middle ignored them both and continued swiping and pecking at his iPad with the only pair of hands the three head shared.
"Shh," said several of the others as they turned back to me and waited.
Eventually the silence grew unbearable. "I don't know what's causing them," I said in a rush. "I suppose it could be insecurity, uncertainty, maybe a frustration."
"Those are effects," said the mostly female head. "Pick one of them and tell us the causes."
"Well," I hesitated. "I suppose insecurity could be caused by fear, low self-esteem, or not knowing where to start."
"Better," said the mostly male head, "And what causes fear, low self-esteem or not knowing where to start?"
"Well...in my book, I quote experts who say that fear comes from a chemical rush of adrenaline and not knowing how to process it."
"And what does your book say causes courage?"
"Learning to get comfortable with fear."
"And how does one do that?"
"By facing your fears in small, manageable steps until you get comfortable with the rush of chemicals," I said with a small smile, remembering.
"And what does your book say about low self-esteem?"
I snuck a peek at the Asian physics teacher. He was smiling at me with encouragement. "My book talks about a process to raise self-esteem by learning to MASTER goals."
"And not knowing where to start?"
"Not knowing where to start suggests I have been skipping steps in the decision making process. I don't reach decisions because I have failed to examine my options."
"Much better," said the mostly male head, his brooding eyes now twinkling. The mostly female head nodded in agreement. "I think she might be ready for you now," she said, turning to the ethereal woman seated next to her. The woman was as hard to look at as to describe. She wore a blue dress that was both opaque and translucent at the same time. The mottled colors of her skin kept shifting as if the cells in her body were continually morphing from solid to liquid to gas, and back to solid. Slowly, she turned a speculative smile towards me. "Have you stopped believing in us?" she asked softly.
"Oh God no," I assured her. "I believe in you all more than ever, especially you. I mean, I can see every day how the world is changing because of what people believe. With all the disinformation and misinformation that people ingest, it's like we're all living in different realities."
"So why have you stopped trusting us?"
"I don't know. Something feels missing. I was so naive when I wrote about you all. I believed that people would choose fear over speculation. I believed that people would choose truth over lies. But people have such different definitions for both. What some people call a lie, other people call an exaggeration. Heck, people are even fighting over what constitutes our basic reality."
"It's all such a mess," I continued in a rush. "People believe that all politicians lie, so they pick someone that they admit tells lies, and they put up with him because they like his policies. They think, 'Well, don't all politicians tell lies?' People believe that everyone needs to cheat in order to succeed, so we seem to be accepting cheating as normal. So people suddenly start cheating and not cheating does make you a sucker. Their reasoning is circular, and nobody questions their beliefs, or sees how it's their beliefs that are creating their reactions, which are in turn creating the reality." I sat back, suddenly exhausted.
"You act as though you believe it's hopeless, "she told me.
"It sure feels hopeless."
"But do you believe it is hopeless?"
I took a deep breath. "No, not really, but it sure is exhausting."
The man with hypnotic eyes, who had spoken first, lifted his hand. "Might I interrupt with a suggestion?" The others nodded and he went on. "She seems to have lost focus. She feels overwhelmed because her focus keeps shifting from to issue to another, settling on none, and doing nothing. Perhaps if she were to focus on one issue at a time, she could start seeing the path forward."
"Excellent suggestion," said the model blue woman turning back to me. "Let's pick one issue and see how your beliefs hold up. What single issue seems to be the most overwhelming right at this moment?"
I didn't have to even think. "Well, I guess the issue closest to home is the coronavirus. I mean, I live with a ninety year old father and an eighty-nine year old mother on home hospice. I work with kids. I ride the bus. It seems like a perfect storm, and I'm scared that I will bring the virus home and it will kill them. Plus, I can't just stay in. Someone has to go out into the world and do the shopping, bring home money. And it really doesn't help that our president says one thing, the World Health Organization says another thing, and the Internet is busy selling crappy masks that according to everything I've read may not work."
Another hand went up, about nine seats down. "Since we are allowing interruptions," said a woman who looked for all the world like my mother did fifty years ago. "Remember that our focus should be on what we can personally do to influence a situation. Worrying about what other people are doing is a waste of your energy."
"Yes," I nodded. "And I think I am doing everything I can personally do to minimize my parents' risk. Experts are saying that the virus spreads through personal contact, so maintaining good health practices are the public's best self-defense, especially since I can't afford to stay home. It's like I tell the kids in my after school program. They need to learn how and when to wash their hands. I teach them the hand washing song where they scrub the tops, the bottoms, in between the fingers and under the nails. I tell them they should wash their hands before they come into the room."
"If they sneeze or cough," I continued, "I send them straight to the hand sanitizer before they touch anything. They know to cover their mouths on the inside of their arms, if they do need to sneeze or cough. We have disinfectant wipes so that we can sanitize toys before we play with them. They know that they should avoid touching their faces if they are not sure about how clean their hands are. We have stopped high-fiving and started high-elbowing. I think the kids are even having fun with the whole thing because knowing how to live with germs safely makes them feel more secure."
Now that I had begun to speak, I couldn't seem to stop. "When I have to enter public places," I plunged on. "I try to touch things with my left hand because I am more likely to accidentally touch my face with my right hand. I even created my own hand sanitizer when the stores ran out--mixing one part rubbing alcohol with one part water. I keep it in my pocket so it's always right there for me to use before touching my face. Oh, and Tanya has taken to spraying my back with disinfectant when I come home," I added with a laugh.
"Good," said the face of my forty year old mother. "It seems like you are doing all you can responsibly do to keep your family safe."
"I'm trying," I replied.
"I don't really have any problems with how you are reacting to the coronavirus," muttered the mottled blue woman. "Your beliefs in that area seem to be keeping you in good order. However, I'm still concerned about how you have been mistrusting us."
"But I do trust you," I insisted. "I trust you all more than ever. Seeing you now with the world what it is, I know that I need you more than ever."
"So why are you struggling?"
"I just don't think that other people will ever really understand you, and unless they do, I don't see how their lives will ever improve. It's like the good guys are losing and the whole world is caught up in some giant riptide."
"So is it other people you don't trust?"
"It's not that. It's just that whenever I try to tell people about you, they act like they already know you. OK, they may have heard about you, but they've never really met you. I mean, have you ever tried to talk to someone who doesn't know how to listen about the power of listening? They don't listen!"
"So what does that say about you?" Asked the woman sitting three seats away. Looking at her was like looking at myself in the mirror. I knew instantly who she was.
"Reflection would say that I'm not listening to them either," I answered staring back at her. "Maybe I am processing their words, but I am not processing their needs. Stephen Covey might say that I'm not giving them emotional air and that's why we're failing to reach an understanding."
"And what would I say about your lumping all people into one category, and saying that they will all never really understand us?" asked my Asian physics teacher.
I looked at him for a moment, "Process would remind me about the 80/20 rule, the resistance curve, and that even mountains can be moved one rock at a time." I pause to consider. "You know, I'm beginning to think that I should have put you first."
"No," he smiled. "I'm happy following strategy here." He fist-bumped the shoulder of the three-headed-brothers seated two seats ahead of him. "Process without strategy lacks that certain something."
"Too right," agreed the left-headed brother.
"If you guys are done," said the mottled blue woman turning back towards me. "Let's get back to your trusting us, and why you have basically been adrift for the past few years."
"Reflect," added the woman with my face.
"Reflection might say that it's me I don't trust," I said. "That I don't trust my ability to really get people to understand you."
The right-head atop the three-headed-brothers gave a snort and said, "If she can't trust herself to tell our story, I think the least she could do is trust us to tell our story."
A chorus of voices echoed with varying interest:
"What?"
"We tell the story?"
"How would that work?"
"I'm not a writer."
"Where would we find the time?"
"He's not suggesting we write it," yelled the left-headed-brother over the chorus of voices. "He's suggesting that she write it, but we tell it," he added as the noise died down.
"You mean like she interviews us?" asked a young girl sitting in the seat farthest from me. Her face was obscured by blonde hair.
"Exactly," yelled the right-headed-brother.
"I like it," said the girl.
"When could we do it?" Asked a woman so overloaded with bags that I could hardly see her face. "I know," she added, answering her own question. "Perhaps each day on the bus as she goes to work, she could interview one of us each day over the next fourteen days. It would be a most efficient use of time."
"I really like it," said the mostly male head in front of me. "All in favor say aye."
"Aye," came a chorus of voices.
"Any opposed?"
"I'm opposed," I said raising my hand.
"You don't get to vote," the mostly male head informed me. "We," he added nodding to the mostly female head, "will go first. See you tomorrow, and I advise you to bring that voice recorder you bought but never use."
With that I was suddenly alone and the bus was just pulling up to my stop.
* * * * *
I looked up from our reading and glanced at her. She was scratching her head. "Questions?" I asked.
She scrunched up her lips before beginning slowly, "I'm trying to figure out how to ask this without," she paused, then rushed on. "Without offending you."
"Offend away," I offered.
"Well," she took a deep breath. "You spend like two pages talking about what you’re personally doing to protect yourself from the virus, but never once mention masks or social distancing. It seems like you spend a lot of time talking about stuff that doesn't work and leaving out what does work."
"Hum," I nodded. "I guessed you missed the part where I say, 'Experts are saying that the virus spreads through personal contact.' At the time, that is what experts were saying. The fact that it spread through the air was only admitted to weeks later. And that's when suddenly everyone went mask crazy. In fact, that is one of the things that haunts me the most."
"What?" She caulked her head curiously.
"The fact that my kids went to spring break with me having told them that masks don't work, and I never had a chance to correct the statement. I mean, at the time that is what the experts were saying."
"What would you tell them now?" She asked quietly. "If you had the chance, I mean."
"I would tell them that masks don't work one-hundred percent of the time, but a good mask does reduce your risk of either getting or transmitting a respiratory virus by nearly eighty percent."
"And then you would teach them how to calculate percentages, right?" Her eyes twinkled.
"Right," I laughed softly. "So was that your only question?" I added with a smile.
"Hang on," she said, suddenly reaching for her phone. A few swipes and finger taps later, she said. "OK, in the next chapter, you say it's the next day, but you also say that America has just recorded its first death. But it says here that the first death in America was reported on February twenty. That's like nearly a month after you started writing. What's up with that?"
I sent her my best mocking look. "I believe you could put that down to a combination of poetic license, time management, and writer's block."
She considered my answer. I waited. "So it took you a while to get through the last chapter?" She asked at last.
"Indeed."
"But you had to write about it as though it was nearly it was the next day. I get it."
"Are all your questions gonna be like this?" I asked amused.
"No," she assured me. "They're about to get more difficult." She looked up at me beaming. "Shall we begin reading your Interview with Cause and Effect?"