Tuesday 31 March 2020

COVID Chronicles Part 1: Two weeks in

Today marks Day 14.

Two weeks ago, I spent the morning at my brother's working and doing some laundry (my dryer died months ago and I haven't bothered to replace it!). We listened to Council and ate pirogies drenched in sesame oil. And when my laundry had dried, we hugged each other and went our separate ways.

In the last two weeks I’ve encountered two other people in real life. Interestingly, all three of these events took place on Tuesdays.

Last week, we had a heavy, wet snowstorm that dropped 7 more centimetres than forecasted (for a total of 10). My neighbour kindly came over with her snowblower and made a big enough dent that I could get out, if I wanted or needed to. I didn’t.

Today, my friend dropped off a refill for Gertie. She knocked on the door and left the package on my doorstep. But I opened the door in time to have a quick chat from about 2 safe distances apart (about 10 feet, probably).

Aside from those two encounters, I’ve had plenty of chats online and over the phone with colleagues, friends and family. I workout every morning with my brother and his partner, and my friend and her partner. We do so, again, using an online video call platform. I’ve left my house once (this past Sunday for a quick drive), but didn’t see anyone. I see people walking by my house everyday, and an uncomfortable amount of cars on the road while I walk Gertie at ungodly hours of the morning and night.

If you’ve followed my journey over the past number of years, you will know I have struggled with depression and anxiety. Over the last year or so, I’ve been good, though. I’ve established a good routine that involves healthy eating, fitness, a great job and plenty of rewarding volunteer activities. But when I was told I would now be working from home and not to come into the office, my immediate thought was oh, this is not going to be good.

Week 1 went by pretty quickly. It was easy to stay home, because I had plenty of snacks and stuck to my routine, aside from physically going to work. Instead, I switch my PJ bottoms, drank an extra cup of coffee and tried my hardest to focus. But I will be honest, most of that week was a blur. I know I accomplished quite a bit, work-wise, yet I don’t really recall much.

Week 2 started with a clean outlook. The sun was shining on Monday morning, and I was ready to plow through the workload I planned to accomplish. I had a number of conference calls and webinars scheduled throughout the week, as well. In other words, I was busy. The snacks were running out, though, and my fitness schedule more than doubled what I would regularly do. Somehow, I lost 5lbs, despite eating 20 of the 32 donuts I made during the week!

Both weekends I’ve found hard. It’s where I notice the heaviness of the current situation more than other times. It’s when my brain goes into overdrive and risk of entering a very dark place is high. I try to keep busy and stay focused. I’ve actually been keeping up my work schedule, as much as possible, so that the routine remains in place. But it’s still a challenge. It’s hard being on my own...

And then Week 3 rolled around. I woke up Monday morning and my brain was in a fog. My body ached. I felt sad. I felt overwhelmed and helpless. My training has been in an action-based, helping-hand capacity, not to sit at home and hope for the best. I still rolled out of bed and worked out. I still did all the things I normally would, but I was definitely not present.

Tuesday (today) it was more of the same. Though my body hurt much less and I slept through the night, my brain was absent. I could barely focus on the exercise and standing up at the same time. It’s a weird thing to describe. I had a good work day and was productive, but I just felt off for most of it.

And then I heard the welcomed sound of a knock on the door. It was my friend making the drop. And to see her, and the reaction that followed caught me completely off guard. I was so overcome with emotion and overwhelmed by how long it had been already (and how grim the outlook for this period ending was), when she left, I burst into tears. I sobbed, uncontrollably, for a good 30 minutes. And it was an ugly, hyperventilating sob. Like high school girl just got dumped, teen movie cry.

I’ve felt like I’ve been holding things together pretty well. I’m fortunate that all my friends and family scattered all over the world are so far unaffected by this virus. Well, at least in terms of health. But I am constantly reminded of how privileged I am. Not just because I’m healthy, but because I (so far) remain employed. I can afford to stay home, because I can afford groceries that will sustain me longer than I would typically shop. I have clean water. I have heat and electricity and internet. I’m still connected to the world around me, but there’s an odd sense of being disconnected. I cannot explain it.

Yet despite all of this, I am not filled with anxiety related to the virus, itself. I still see it in practical, scientific terms from my perspective of climate change. I continue to remain accepting of the fact that I will likely loose people I love in the coming months. And while, yes, it will be sad to experience that loss of life, when looking at the greater good, I’m not swayed on my belief that we need to lessen the number of people on this planet. I am focused on this fact, which helps me to stay calm and rational. The numbers do not scare me. They do not incite fear or panic. They just make wonder, how much longer am I going to be stuck here?

Sunday 15 March 2020

The Triple Threat: Pandemic, climate change and privilege

It’s 4AM. I’m wide awake and overthinking. Again. The world seems somewhat quieter - the hustle and bustle of the weekend is somehow hushed with the events happening around the planet. It feels somber.

On March 11th, the World Health Organization declared a pandemic. Since this occured, I’ve had numerous conversations with an equal number of people. They get heated very quickly, and it’s generally unpleasant. People I once was able to have calm, rational debates with are now giving me the silent treatment, or giving me prescriptions for how I should live my life based on their personal assumption I couldn’t have concluded these things on my own.

It’s exhausting, to say the least - not to mention demeaning.

I’m continually reminded that we are living in “a new world.” But the reality is, this threat has always been present in our modern world of air travel and globalization. Countries have seen health-related events take the lives of thousands in the past, and we will surely see this again in years to come. The struggle I am having internally, however, is in relation to two very present realities of the world we live in - climate change and privilege.

We have known for many years (decades even!) that one of the impacts of climate change is health. Mental health is increasingly becoming a part of the conversation and we, in the field of climate change, are already struggling with how we can help to mitigate this very real outcome of what’s on the horizon. We also talk a lot about other health factors, such as the rise in disease. In fact, the CDC lists a number of vector borne diseases that are augmented by changing climates - one of which is the plague. I believe, what we are seeing today, is only the beginning of globalized health crises as it relates to climate change.

And yet, no one is talking about it. At least not in this context.

When Australia was on fire, the link between that specific reality and climate change was so obvious. No one talked about it. They sent thoughts and prayers and then went about their day.

Over the last week, I’ve become increasingly more frustrated at how quickly people are becoming enraged over the rise of COVID-19 (and by all means, people should be calling on their governments to take action and taking logical precautions themselves!), but not that of an equally present and arguably more devastating threat - climate change. Imagine if the outrage for the latter matched that of the former. Maybe we’d be in a better position. But the reality is, things are bound to get much, much worse in the next several years and by then it will be too late.

I am frequently asked how I stay “so optimistic” working in this field. But in truth, I’m not overly optimistic about our ability to cope with the pending implications of inaction related to the climate crisis before us, and this pandemic is further proof of why.

The current reality was (and still is) a perfect opportunity to showcase how incredible we are as a species. We have the chance to truly work together - globally - on preventing or at least reducing the impacts of something horrific. And, in fairness, I think on a political level, this is happening and I am pleasantly surprised by this course of action. But at the individual level, I am disheartened by what I’m experiencing. Store shelves emptied of basic essentials, black market sales of said essentials at exuberant prices, and threatening and unpleasant messages from peers to family and friends travelling abroad. This is not what I expect of my fellow humans. This is not normal behaviour, nor is it acceptable. And it is the foundation that has put me in an uncomfortable situation when discussing the pandemic with those around me.

And this brings me to the second piece - privilege.

When news of the initial cases of COVID-19 began to break in January, it was barely a news item. People shrugged, made some comment about China, and then carried on with whatever they were doing. In North America, China is pretty far away. As is Australia. So the whole “us vs. them” “here vs. there” psychology is at play. If we can’t see it, it doesn’t exist, right?

The problem with climate change, and now the emergence of this virus, is that the most vulnerable people in both cases, the ones already dealing with the realities of either scenario, are typically not white. They’re also not your neighbour. Yet.

My time in East Africa, in particular, placed me face-to-face with climate change every single day. It wasn’t super obvious at first, but eventually it was the only thing I could see. The shift happened so quickly that it felt like everything changed overnight. Rains were failing, crops were struggling, markets weren’t selling “in season” products, prices were higher, etc. But convincing those at home of this reality in relation to climate change was just as much of a harsh reality. Most would give that pity face and tell me I was doing great work “over there.” Yet the truth of the matter is, I wasn’t. The problem was far bigger than anything I could contribute to. And it is from here that my internal turmoil is founded.

Seeing people buy van loads of toilet paper, hand sanitizer, etc., is mind boggling. It hurts my heart immensely. It hurts in the same way it does when I talk about putting together a 72-hour disaster preparedness kit. The rich - those with an additional privilege - can afford to do this with ease. But this is not the case for everyone, or even most. Our privilege shows now more than ever. And it’s disgusting. 

The reality is, this virus is surely to account for many lives lost. And what I’m about to say now, I recognize fully, will be unpopular and is also uncharacteristic of my general view on humanity, but it’s a scientific rationalization that I have been working through over the last few years. A massive loss of life, though troubling, is actually positive in terms of climate change. Less people on the planet means a reduced burden on resources. Allow me to say that again - a reduction in human lives will benefit our ability to lessen the impacts of climate change. But, unfortunately, like we’re seeing now, and like with almost everything in the world, the outcome will be disproportionate. It won’t be an even mix of “us vs. them.” It will be the world’s most vulnerable. The geographically disadvantaged. The sick. The elderly. The poor. 

The least affected will be the “us.” Westerners, usually white, have the greatest ability to adapt and cope with whatever we are about to face. They have the financial means to do so, but they also have institutions and specific systems in place to ensure they aren’t immediately impacted. And even if trouble does find them, in many cases, they can buy their way out of it. This isn’t new. It’s been happening for as long as human beings have existed.

So, while you’re stockpiling for the apocalypse, think about how your actions are directly (or even indirectly) affecting others. Be grateful for the systems we have in place, here in Canada, that offer us certain assurances, at least for the immediate future. Be grateful for the water we easily have access to in a split second, that enables us to not only drink, but keep our hands and surroundings clean. Be grateful to have access to food (though this is surely to become challenging in the weeks and months ahead for food banks offering respite for those not as fortunate). Be grateful for the healthcare we are afforded simply by being born in this country. 

The time to get angry has arrived. But we need to address this in a logical manner. We need to take a breath, remain calm, and act together to find workable solutions for as many as possible. We have reached a crossroads where we have a choice between community, compassion and making effective change, OR we can continue as usual.

I know which one I choose. Do you?