The Iceberg Underneath

"...The world weighs on my shoulders
But what am I to do?
You sometimes drive me crazy
But I worry about you
I know it makes no difference
To what you're going through
But I see the tip of the iceberg
And I worry about you..."

–Rush, Distant Early Warning

Like a big sigh of relief, we ended the week riding the rogue waves.

Five days earlier, my wife Amy didn't feel well. She had chest pain. It burned slightly like labored breathing after exercising. She was also more tired than usual and she had body aches. No fever and no other symptoms, though. Although she did smell weird smells that no one else smelled.

She worried; I worried. She never feels like that, and considering we're in the middle of a global coronavirus pandemic, she knew it was best to contact our doctor. So she scheduled a video call for the next day.

Our collective worry began to build at this point. COVID-19 is a virus that seems to affect different populations with symptomatic variance. The common symptoms are fever, tiredness and dry cough. But then there are aches and pains, nasal congestion, runny nose, sore throat and/or diarrhea. Then there are those who are asymptomatic and who could carry the virus for weeks.

Her doctor went through a checklist and decided Amy should go to the drive-thru testing center. The next day she did just that. It only took minutes, but was very uncomfortable. A long swab was stuck up one of her nostrils and then moved around to get as much gunk as possible. Then another swab in the back of her throat. After that, they told her they'd have the results in 24-48 hours.

Then we waited and lived our next day as any day prior to that: home schooling, working, isolating, exercising, loving and supporting each other, eating and drinking (probably one too many of those), and driving each other a little bit crazy in between. I went to the store for our family and that's an existential adventure in and of itself, although Trader Joe's has today's new shopping experience very well managed.

Amy and I again worried about what to do if one or both of us got sick and what would have to with our daughters in a worst-case scenario. Our doctor had asked Amy could we self-isolate if need be, and we could, but not optimally. Add to that all the loss and economic uncertainty and the tip of the iceberg begins to look pretty good. Right now all we can do is live day to day in the newest normal and plan for multiple scenarios of what may or may not happen.

Governments, medical professionals and epidemiologists aside, who the hell plans for a pandemic? Some of us have living wills and designated family or friends who could take care of the children if something untimely happens, but we never think about a global health care crisis. Like ever. The seasonal flu, yes, but not death by flu, at least not at our ages. That added layers of stress thinking about what if and all the scenarios with coronavirus is the iceberg underneath.

On Thursday afternoon Amy got the note from her doctor that the test was negative. Amen, although it didn't help that some friends and family reminded her that coronavirus tests have roughly a 70% accuracy rate, with about 30% of the tests producing a false-negative result.

But we're going with negative, and there was no better positive news than that. However, the weight and gravity of the unknown is always right there under the surface, absent of any warmth, and yet it burns at the touch. And both our girls felt its weight and cold fire as well, especially after us talking about what was going on and what may or may not happen. That night we all had a big family breakdown with a mixture of bittersweet relief, fear and tears.

That emotional sigh of relief carried us into a warm Friday afternoon to the beach, face masks on and boogie boards in hand, and we rode those rogue waves that buoy the icebergs in the distance.

The Healing Hope We Can Give

The white woman kept shouting at us all as we walked by. I heard her before I saw her, although it seemed like most people in the local Martin Luther King, Jr. Day march ignored her. We were there with our family -- me, my wife and our two girls. We'd taken our family to local peaceful marches like this before, wanting our girls to become good global citizens and activists of inclusion, fairness and critical thinking.

Last year's march for us evoked hope and embodied peace and love for all peoples and races, not anger and hate, and it denounced bullying, harassment and assault wherever and however it appears. But this year's march felt different, much more somber than previous ones. There were pockets of celebratory joy and healing hope, but overall it was much more subdued, awkward even. And the white woman kept shouting at us all as walked by.

"This march isn't for you! You are not black! You have no idea what they've gone through! This isn't for you! Stop pretending it's for you!"

Again, most people ignored her as we walked past. We finished the march and I just wanted to get out of there, further triggered by my involvement last year in taking on workplace bullying in local politics. But she was right about one thing -- even those most enlightened, empathic and privileged of us don't know what brown and black people have gone through in our country, never experiencing institutionalized discrimination like they have for hundreds of years. Yes, it was an awkward march for me, made more so by the fact that my family was on the front page of our newspaper.

Less than three months later, our world has been swallowed up by a pandemic (COVID-19) and the combined levels of human loss and economic loss are beyond overwhelming. Government assistance has failed many small businesses and the self-employed. Add in the loss of personal freedoms and liberties due to distancing and shelter-in-place orders and it's no wonder that anger, frustration even depression are on the rise. Domestic and sexual violence are are the rise too, a dangerous byproduct of the lockdown, where people in violent home situations have no where to go.

Combine the macro with the micro and everyday decisions we used to make become mind-bending existential threats -- We have to go to the grocery store, so when do we go? Will the shelves be stocked with what we need? And if they have what we need, we'll still have to wear a mask inside, and when we get home wipe and/or wash down everything we bought, and then even change our clothes if we carried things against our bodies.

Repeat that process with every essential errand that needs to be ran. I wasn't sure what to call it until I read that we're all suffering from moral fatigue, where the everyday things we did in the old days are now daunting and emotionally and physically depleting.

In our latest weekly family meeting, which are more important now than ever, we always share what we've noticed about each other, how appreciate each other and what we're grateful for. Our youngest Bryce said, "I'm so grateful we're wealthy." Both her mother and I looked at each other, and then responded, "No, we're not really."

"Well, I'm grateful we can go to the store and get food," she added.

Both our girls have an understanding of what's happening in the world, and the fact that Bryce equated our ability to go to the store when we need to with being wealthy really wasn't a surprise. The fact is while our financial runway may be longer than some, it still ends on the edge of a cliff like most folks. We've all already lost so many other things. Which is why we recommended donating date nights to help feed hungry families.

Coronavirus hasn't discriminated over who gets sick and dies, and how quickly it can spread, but it certainly has exposed all our glaring socioeconomic and cultural differences and inequalities. The anger and frustration has led to protests that are understandable; it's an existential conundrum over whether we continue to destroy our very fragile economic livelihoods, or not, because of this deadly virus. A deadly virus that we have no idea how many are infected until testing improves, and will spike again until a vaccine is developed that still could be 12-18 months away.

But this moral fatigue and viral frustration has also exposed irrational thinking and unlocked a growing backlash of comparative personal suffering. The latest protests claiming government overreach with shelter-in-place has had their plight equated to that of African Americans and the civil rights movement. I get the existential conundrum, but I don't get the comparison.

I urge us all to be careful of comparing incomparable historical suffering to current personal suffering. Fact is, we're all suffering today; we've never had to experience so much disruptive change so fast in the modern day. We should be empathic to each other and help each other as much as we can. And at the very least, if this means sacrificing some of our personal freedoms for the health and safety of others -- our friends and families and communities -- then this is the healing hope we can give to everyone, regardless of race, and because of it.

Donate Your Date Nights and Help Feed Families

This time last year, we were all super fly disco lemonade.

My wife was PTA president of our girls' school and we had put on a fun 1970's themed auction fundraiser. It was an amazing date night!

That night feels like 10 years ago now. Today, our kids' school is closed for the rest of the year and there will be no fun 1980's themed auction fundraiser as planned. Our local lockdowns and shelter-in-place orders to mitigate the spread of coronavirus (COVID-19) limit any and all date nights to cooking at home with the kids, or ordering take-out delivery and/or buying gift cards from local business that are struggling and need our help.

That's great for those of us who are still have jobs and can have stay-cation date nights at home. But for many more families that have one or both parents out of work, it's getting more difficult to put food on the table. Families out of work depend on limited government resources, community organizations, individual donations and food banks. We've already seen the economic toll coronavirus has taken with some of the families we go to school with.

According to the Second Harvest Food Bank of Santa Cruz County (where we live), 1 in 4 children and 1 in 5 adults face the reality of hunger. This includes over 55,000 children, seniors, veterans, homeless, working poor, and more who need some help from their neighbors to make it through a tough time. And according to Feeding America, 37 million people face hunger in the U.S. today — including more than 11 million children and nearly 5.4 million seniors. 

The impact of COVID-19 will continue to increase the number of people who will face hunger and need help. 

For those of us who can, why don't we donate one take-out meal or date night per month to our local food banks? 

That's what my wife and I are going to do. You can find a local food bank to donate to by going to Feeding America, or just donate directly to Feeding America. 

So again, if you can, just think about donating one take-out meal or date night per month. We are starting at $50 and you can donate what works for you. 

We know that our $50 can provide dozens of meals for families today.  Hey, we can be cheap dates, have fun at home and help our community! 

Donate your date nights and help feed families! Thank you from #BhivePower!

About All The Things

"The worst loss is always your loss. Only you know your loss and the meaning. Meaning takes time." 

-David Kessler, author, public speaker, and death and grieving expert

I knew it was coming. I told my wife only two weeks that it was coming. First, they blocked off the parking lots along the ocean and all the city and state park parking lots. Then came the county-wide order to shut down all the parks, the beaches, the ocean beyond the beaches that meant no surfing as well, and the walk path along West Cliff Drive that goes from Natural Bridges State Park to the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk.

The order is only in place through the Easter holiday, for about one week, but that could change (and there are rumors that it might be extended). If you violate these orders, including loitering in groups in any public areas, you'll be fined $1,000. Seven people visiting Santa Cruz from another Bay Area city were loitering in a 7-11 parking lot and got just that: seven $1,000 dollar tickets.

All in the wake of preventing the further spread of coronavirus (COVID-19). Limiting where we can go locally over a holiday weekend sucks, so we had to get creative. And bold. And break the rules. Maybe. During the weeks of shelter-in-place orders, we've been going outside daily as a family to get exercise and air and take our dog Jenny for a walk and a run. That's included going to a park or a beach or down the street to play tennis, ensuring our social distancing no matter where we go.

And now it's all locked down. However, no one said we couldn't go play on the playground at our girls' school. Sure, we're taking a chance, but there have only been a rare person or two cruising through. Each time we've gone I sign the Judas Priest song Breaking the Law in my head and out loud. My wife laughed but the girls don't recognize Dad's old school rock. When we go we play games like 2-touch, 4 square, shoot baskets and play the game HORSE. All while letting Jenny run around the open field.

The other day I fixed my gaze upon the playground structures beyond the black top -- the monkey bars, the zip line, the balance beams, the slides and a myriad of other high-energy activity contraptions set safely on a bed of bark. There was no one else around.

Out of all the things we've lost to date -- over 113,000 lives globally and counting and all those lives affected by the lives lost -- and all the personal freedoms, millions of jobs, and the millions of little things we did collectively every day around the world, I continued to stare at the playground and thought, This is the most loss our children have every experienced. Many of the things precious to them are gone. Some for now. Some for good. 

They've never experienced anything like this to date. There won't be any more recesses for the rest of the year, no more kids running and jumping and yelling and laughing. No more band for Bea. No more science camp that she'll never experience now as a 5th grader. No more after school kids in nature program for Bryce. No more sports or run for fun, a weekly running club they were both in. No more after school musical theater that they've both loved so much. No more playdates with friends, except virtually.

There's so much loss everywhere. So many divides have widened. Prior to this, everyone's lost something in their lives, and now it's compounded exponentially by this health care crisis. My wife and I have been listening to Brené Brown's latest podcast called Unlocking Us. We listened to the episode with David Kessler, a death and grieving expert, someone who's lost a child, which I cannot imagine. What struck me during the podcast was when David talked about why we shouldn't be comparing loss because, "The worst loss is always your loss." And that we need to grieve and have our grief acknowledged. Not for problems to be solved or silver linings to be pointed out, just listened to and acknowledged.

I just kept rolling that one around in my head and heart over the past few days, the worst loss is always your loss. And then when we went to play at the girls' school, we just ran around, and played, and laughed, and we were all okay, for those moments. Yes, our kids are grieving the loss of daily friend contact, the loss of school, the loss of nostalgic normal that already feels like decades ago. But we're also grateful that our kids are resilient, and the ultimate meaning of all this may never be needed. God knows us adults may struggle with the meaning of all this for decades to come.

We're all grieving now. We're grieving of a world lost. We're grieving about all the things. It's okay to grieve. Bless you and yours this holiday weekend and beyond.

Dad, Our Family's Computer Guy

"Do you compute?
What does it take to make you understand?"

–Donnie Iris, Do You Compute?

Two minutes before the Zoom meeting, Bryce couldn't find the invitation. Mom thought she'd sent it to her, but couldn't be sure.

"I'll send it again," she said.

But then she couldn't log into her Zoom account on Beatrice's laptop.

"Ugh, I need the password to login," she said.

She tried, but couldn't do it. "I'm just going to log into the meeting on my computer for you."

That's when I sighed. "C'mon, you all had to wait until the last minute for this?"

"Dad, why do you have to make me feel bad about it," Bea said. "It's not my fault. I didn't know this was going to happen."

"Sorry," I said. "But you could've gotten this figured out before now, and now you're late to the birthday party Zoom video call."

"It's not my fault!"

"I still need the meeting link!" Bryce called from upstairs.

"I'm still trying to send it to you," Mom said.

"Can you just tell me the meeting number and I can have her log in?" I asked.

"What meeting number?" Mom said.

"The meeting number. Every Zoom meeting has a meeting number and you can just log in to it on the Zoom site."

"I don't know what the meeting number is."

"Wow," I said, with more than a hint of sarcasm.

"Dad, it's not her fault!" Beatrice said.

"I'll AirDrop it to you and then you can give it to her," Mom said.

"Why would you do that? I just need the number."

Then came the AirDrop pinging noise. I checked my phone. The meeting link was there, but I couldn't see the number. And when I tried to log in to the meeting, I had to log in myself and didn't have my username and password handy and didn't have the password memorized.

"Oh my God," I said. "Just give me the friggin' number for the meeting."

"What number?" Mom asked.

"Wow. I'll just copy it off of Beatrice's computer and put it in my notes so I can tell Bryce," I said.

"She's using my computer," Mom said.

"I know."

So that's what I did. But when Bryce tried to log in to the meeting, the login asked for a password.

"Oh my God! Amy, what's the password?!?"

"I don't know," Mom said. "I didn't realize I set one up."

So I went back to Bea's computer, I mean, Mom's computer, and found the password. This time I said hi to the girls' friends on the Zoom video call. No one acknowledged me.

"Here, Bryce, here's the password.

I read it to her aloud and then she was in. After 30 minutes, Bryce came back downstairs a little upset.

"What's wrong?" we asked Bryce. I could still hear Beatrice on the call in our bedroom.

"Well, I know you told me not to put the desktop goose on my computer, but I did, because everyone else did, and now I can't get it off," Bryce said.

This desktop goose thing is a new program where a goose will still the mouse, track mud on the screen, and just be silly annoying. It may be fun to some of their friends, but to me, it smelled of virus, so I didn't want it on any of our laptops. Ever.

After spending a few minutes deleting it and restarting Bryce's computer, we reminded Beatrice that Mom has the free Zoom version and her call would only last 40 minutes.

"Why?" she called from upstairs.

"Because that's what you get for free," I said.

"But why can't it be longer?"

And this was a Saturday. While it's not like this every day, and our whole family are all pretty computer literate, it truly is the new virtual world of work and home and all things integrated due to coronavirus (COVID-19). All the friggin' things. My wife and I have virtual work meetings every day, and our girls have virtual school every day and meetings with friends, sometimes the same fun we all have with online meetings and taking the first 10 minutes just to get everyone on correctly so then can see each other and hear each other. Just like the good old days of work.

If you've ever seen the Saturday Night Live skit called Nick Burns, Your Company's Computer Guy from the early 2000's, featuring Jimmy Fallon as Nick Burns, then you know what I'm talking about. The character was a sarcastic company IT guy who thought everyone else in the company were incompetent, technically challenged buffoons.

Of course, I don't treat my family that way.

"Why is the Zoom meeting only 40 minutes, Dad?"

Because Mom has the free Zoom, is that enough reason for you, Nancy Drew?

Be safe and well.

#BhivePower

***And all kidding aside, here is the Zoom response to the security issues that have come to light and are being addressed.