Optimism Under Assault

Today I had to make the decision to curtail my activity of driving for LYFT with two minor exceptions. I have two regular, early morning (really early) riders who depend upon me for transportation to work (I’m the only driver out at that time and there is no public transportation). I’ll continue serving these people by pre-arranged appointment, but anything else is off the table right now. The reason?: The “hidden enemy” has been exposed in Dubuque.

I was, from the very beginning, mildly skeptical of just how accurate all the projections were about the future. I was strongly optimistic that even if the medical projections were true, the fabric of the American “can do” spirit would be sturdy enough to resist the lemming call to climb the spiral staircase of hysteria and then jump from the top of it, falling faster than the stock market into the abyss of panic. It was not.

I am of the opinion that the daily news conferences by the President’s team is most helpful and encouraging … serving as a dim lantern of light in the darkness. I have decided that I will no longer watch the portion in which the floor is opened for questions from the news media. Frankly, I find nothing helpful and/or informative that comes from their behavior and their bait-trap-gotcha approach to that opportunity.

For days, I’ve been asking my riders, “How are you doing in all of this?” and for the most part they seem to be taking it all in stride. Today, I asked myself, “How am I doing in all of this?” I don’t really like all that I heard when I answered myself. I supposed it depends on when you ask me. I know that I’m eating more than I should … an evidence that perhaps I’m not doing as well as I would like since I am an inveterate stress eater. I’m worried about what our financial future may look like, in the event that I actually survive the pandemic. If I don’t survive (I am 71, but with no underlying medical issues) then it really doesn’t matter, does it! 🙂 At times I find myself wondering if I should clean and oil all my handguns and the two shotguns, and make sure I know where all the ammunition is. That’s extreme, I know but …. I get angry at the stupidity expressed in the posts of so many people on Facebook. I am discouraged by the continuing disunity and partisan opportunism that is still on display in Washington D.C.’s halls of government. I often wish that we could quarantine the news media … ALL news media and simply get a reporting of the facts without the injection of commentary, ideology, prejudice and personal or corporate agenda.

All of these things and more are, from time to time during the day, bubbling beneath the surface of my consciousness and occasionally erupt. If you ask me how I’m doing during an “eruption”, that’s probably what you will find.

BUT, then there are the times when, after realizing what is erupting, I sit to hug and snuggle Hairy Potter (our new kitty) and refocus, get centered, and return to my anchor.

Tho’ the angry surges roll
On my tempest-driven soul,
I am peaceful, for I know,
Wildly though the winds may blow,
I’ve an anchor safe and sure,
That can evermore endure.

Mighty tides about me sweep,
Perils lurk within the deep,
Angry clouds o’ershade the sky,
And the tempest rises high;
Still I stand the tempest’s shock,
For my anchor grips the rock.

I can feel the anchor fast
As I meet each sudden blast,
And the cable, though unseen,
Bears the heavy strain between;
Thro’ the storm I safely ride,
Till the turning of the tide.

Troubles almost ’whelm the soul;
Griefs like billows o’er me roll;
Tempters seek to lure astray;
Storms obscure the light of day:
But in Christ I can be bold,
I’ve an anchor that shall hold.

Refrain:
And it holds, my anchor holds:
Blow your wildest, then, O gale,
On my bark so small and frail;
By His grace I shall not fail,
For my anchor holds, my anchor holds.

Where is YOUR anchor?