Just Keep Swimming

I gave myself a pep talk recently before walking into the local grocery store. “You can do this. You should do this. Just keep swimming.” Why all the self-talk? I was going to wear my cloth mask into the store. And I was pretty sure I was going to be the only person in the store wearing a mask. Being alone in doing something feels awkward any day; during a time when every single person around you is under quite a bit of stress because of an ongoing global pandemic and a growing awareness of pervasive racial injustice, it gets downright hard.

I thought there might be funny looks. I worried that people would judge me because of my choice to wear a mask. I didn’t have time or, likely, the personal connection required, to share my spiel about why I am still wearing a cloth mask everywhere in public when pretty much everyone else around me has abandoned that behavior. (Because I believe it is still the right thing to do, because I worry I am one of the most likely people to encounter COVID-19 and don’t want to infect my community and we have good evidence that wearing a cloth mask protects those around you, because when more people practice a behavior, it gets easier for people who want to but feel uncomfortable.) Mostly, I just wanted this to be a “normal” experience - shoot, I wanted life to feel “normal” again.

Just keep swimming. If we all keep swimming, we can make it through the pandemic with fewer lives lost. Yes, I am tired of wearing a mask. Yes, I wish I could eat out again. Yes, I want to host a party and travel and remember what normal felt like. And I will do those things again…as soon as we know enough about this damn virus that it is safe to do so. These are the things I tell myself every day.

After I got back to the car and took off my mask, it hit me: I am privileged.

At no point in the past 15 minutes had I been afraid for my life. Worried about my pride? Sure. Fretting about what people would think? Absolutely. Troubled that only one other person in the entire store was wearing a mask? Yup. But scared? Nope. No way. Not. Even. Once.

I suppose that I know I lead a privileged life, I just don’t think about that fact very often. Like most of us, the things I I tend to think about through the day are pretty minor: little things that either annoy me or bring me joy from moment to moment. Sitting in my car, the abrupt re-realization was jarring.

I live in a place where COVID-19 and racial injustice both feel pretty remote. The rural nature of our population has largely protected us from the brunt of the pandemic. The small population size means everyone knows everyone, and what folks think about you is less about your skin color and more about whose kin you are. This insulation makes it difficult to translate what is happening on a national scale to actions locally, whether that is wearing a mask in the grocery store or speaking out when people are treated differently because of the color of their skin. And even though it is hard, we all should do it.

Just keep swimming. If we all keep swimming, diversity in race, color, religion, gender, sexual orientation, gender identity, ethnic affiliation, health, age, disability, economic status and national origin become characteristics of a population that enrich rather than divide us. Good humans surround us, and we all must be willing to see them. And when some do not see them, we are obligated to stop, point it out, and make it better.

What happened during that grocery store trip? People smiled at me and asked what my weekend plans were. They talked about how hot it was so early in the summer. One friend shouted hello as we zig zagged toward each other in the parking lot, another joked about her last-minute shopping plan for a birthday party that evening. The young man who checked me out asked if I found everything I needed. In other words, it was normal. Glad I kept swimming.

Together, we can keep swimming. The fam, circa 1979, California.