Can it really be that we are getting on a P-L-A-N-E.? Going to an AIRPORT, to linger for hours amidst the (some) unmasked/unvaxxed hordes? Not without more than a modicum of trepidation, but my sister and I are going to Chicago tomorrow for four days. My first time getting on an airplane in 18 months, longer than that for her. We bought our tix in a delirious frenzy of “OHMYGODIT’SFINALLYOVERLET’STRAVEL” – back in May when we got our Covid-19 vaccinations, back before the ravages of the Delta variant began to hold sway over all. Well, of course we didn’t really think it was over, but we were hopeful. Weren’t we all? Didn’t we all think, if only for a millisecond, PHEW, glad THAT’S over? But within maybe two short weeks, we knew what idiots we’d all been. What with Covid-deniers and anti-vaxxers/anti-maskers and horsey anti-parasitic abusers, we’ll certainly never be that naive again.
We’ve been staring at each other in dread for months now.
Fuck.
Fuck!
I know!
Should we cancel?
No!
Well, maybe…
Will we get our money back?
Who knows…
Fuck!
I know!
But no, we’ll be fine, right?
Yeah, I think so…. we just have to be REALLY careful.
Does anyone think that any of the people who suffered breakthrough cases after they were vaccinated didn’t think that they had been careful? Hmm?
I know a lot of people, personally, that have traveled and are fine. That have told me, “Oh you have nothing to worry about, just double-mask.” “And if you do get sick, it’s not like you’re going to die.” “The air on the plane is BLAH-BLAH-BLAH.” Yes, I know, I’ve heard it a thousand times. And I know why they do it – they mean well, and they’re encouraging, and again, hopeful. It’s what we tell others, and ourselves. You’ll be fine. Others may not be, but you’ll be fine. We all do it. They’re the stories we tell each other to keep on going. And we mean them when we say them. They are kindnesses.
Well, so we’re going, and I know there are some out there who may be judging us. Hey, I am judging us. It still feels wrong. It doesn’t feel brave. It feels irresponsible. Even though I know we will be even more careful there than we have been here – and we were the bubble that consisted of three people for 15 months – it feels rash.
But while I have had an incredibly refreshing short weekend here and there, away from the confines of my home, my sister hasn’t, and she deserves to eat delicious food not from a plastic container, and see new things not on a screen, and sleep in a bed not covered in dogs, if only for a few days.
And yes, we intend to be cautious and civic minded as we are here (notwithstanding actually getting on a plane) – masks everywhere, outdoor eating only, no (sob) indoor music venues or (weep) bars, etc. Because in the end it’s not about us getting sick. If I get sick, I can quarantine. I am taking my laptop and I can work from anywhere. If my sister gets sick and has to quarantine, well, it’s more difficult for her, with her dog boarding business. She’d lose money. But yeah, we wouldn’t die, and we most likely wouldn’t be hospitalized. But what if we’re asymptomatic, and infect countless others before we know (or if we ever find out) we’ve been exposed, and are busy exposing others? This thing just goes on and on and on, and many more die, and countless business fail, and multitudes lose their jobs and their homes, and we can’t travel, and we have to wear masks forever. And ever. And I also know people who don’t give a shit. “Let them die if they were too stupid to get the vaccine.” Really? I mean, for fuck’s sake, really?
Yes, we are going, and as I have judged others, I should now be judged. But while I’m being judged I’m going to go out and have a judiciously wonderful time, and I’m going to mindfully eat Chicago alive, and drink it cautiously under the table, and revel shrewdly in it’s masculine, upright architecture, and prudently ogle art, and carefully bask in the glory that is The Bean. It is an indulgence, and I am afraid, but I am afraid to continue being afraid. There is so precious little left that we can do with abandon, and this won’t be one of them. But calculated risks are all we have in life.
Send a little good juju our way, wouldja?
My Existential Moment 