“You Can’t Always Get What You Want…”
When I was a kid, my godfather was an important presence in my life. I didn’t see him very often, because he lived in Chicago and my family lived elsewhere, but he and I had a strong connection. He was a science teacher, a terrific church musician, and someone with a silly sense of fun. I credit him with helping me fall in love with the city that I now call home.
He’s in his 80s now, his wife passed away about a year ago, and so I’ve made it a point to reconnect with him. In the “before times” earlier this year, we’d occasionally go out to hear concerts and/or eat meals together.
I called the other day, to see how he’s managing through the pandemic. He lives in a retirement community in the suburbs, and like many such places, they have (wisely) banned visitors since March.
Our conversation started with this statement: “Well, I haven’t left the property in over 100 days.” And I thought — uh oh. This is going to be a complaint session. Brace yourself.
But then, he proceeded to regale me with all of the things he is doing. A friend brought him a moving box full of books in early March, and so he’s reading like a fiend in his “man cave” — a spare bedroom with his comfy chair and television. He’s figured out how many steps it takes him to walk around his floor (wearing his mask), and he figures if he does that X times, he’s walked a mile. He is keeping his appointments in the fitness center. He is calling friends and neighbors, just to check in. And sometimes, his kids come by and they sit outdoors to visit — he reports getting a wicked sunburn the first time, “…but I didn’t care.”
My comment to him was, “…well, you sound pretty happy.” And here was his response –
“No, I HATE THIS. But it’s the way that is has to be.”
He wasn’t bitter. He wasn’t particularly angry. He was just matter-of-fact. I hate this. I don’t want to do what I’m doing. And yet, it’s what I must do, so I will do it.
That comment really stuck with me, because I don’t think I have given myself permission to say something similar out loud.
I hate this, too. I hate trying to prep courses without browsing through the stacks in the library. I hate that interactions with friends are by videochat, without the ability to hug them when it’s time to celebrate or time to mourn. And I hate — really hate — that neither I nor my dad are allowed to hold my grandmother’s hand, scared as she is, at the very end of her life.
But this is the way it has to be. If I want to return to those things that matter to me, I have to stay put, wear my mask, wash my hands, teach online, and just deal with it. I don’t have to like it; I just have to do it.
Friends, we can do this hard thing. So please — hate it, but do it, so that we can (eventually) get what we need.
