And The World Stands Still
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And The World Stands Still
John Paul Derryberry
Before this past week, my world has stopped spinning on three occasions. The first two times, it was very personal, and I shut everyone out. The third time was when my first college closed its doors. I was in the same boat as every classmate wondering what's next and reeling from the another loss of control. My practice with the first two allowed me to embrace the third. And now I have a fourth, and I share this fourth time with every other human on the planet.
The coronavirus pandemic is slowly restricting the world into a standstill. It is creating fear, anxiety, and a shortage of toilet paper even though diarrhea doesn't appear to be a symptom. I remember that type of panic, that directionless, that desperation of needing to make a move, a choice, to do anything to feel I had control of something in my life. Control, an illusion we all love to project we have, yet no human has complete control, ever. After all my years in social work, I've learned that those who act like they have everything under control have had the least.
When our individual or collective world stands still, the reminder of the fragility of our existence smacks us upside the head. How much of our life is dependent on the fragile social structure we surround ourselves with is more significant than we want to admit. Our interconnected world, which seems to shrink with each new invention, feels too awfully small this Sunday. The feeling Smallness has increased our reaction and emotions to such a wide spread event.
As long-time readers know, I'm not here to tell you how to live. Buy a bunch of tp, still travel, lock yourself in your house for the next month, it's your choice. I hope everyone chooses the greater good; I will even if some leaders in all industries won't. We all process loss of control over our lives very differently: some panic, some have increased anxiety, some act out of character, and some become unpredictable. The most important part of this process is learning to accept that we can't control everything which creates fear- a feeling that I remember all too well. Life is fragile, always has been, always will be. Accepting that fact was freeing for me. When I finally accepted I could not control everything, something replaced it, vulnerability.
Vulnerability, the idea to be open to life, even to the notion it might end, allows me to let the people I love know without the worry of being too sappy. It allows me to look at a person less fortunate than me and admit our roles might reverse if a couple of things outside my control go a different way. It allows a bunch of Italians to grab instruments to play beautiful music with each other from balconies while being quarantined. They didn't have much choice with the virus landing in their back yard, but they decided how to pass the time. They decided on music, singing, and being vulnerable with their neighbors. Their world is supposed to stop, yet they played on.
This virus won't be the last time the world - yours, mine, or ours- stands still. This epidemic won't be the last time we have a lot less control than we realize. It won't be the last time we have the option to panic into selfish actions, or pivot to unselfish ways to lift others around us. Those are the types of choices we always control, our reaction to what we cannot control. While the world slowly comes to a halt, I choose to remain vulnerable: to love, to lift others up, to write, to laugh, and to be unselfish. So when the world starts moving again, because it will, the people I love will know I always will.