The coronavirus has certainly arrived.  What is less certain is the travail it will leave when it departs.  There is no question that the pain will be great, with economies trashed, lives altered, many lost. It’s hard to see through the mists of panic, trying to discern the depth of its outcome.

Yet I have surprised myself by looking at unfolding events so coolly. I’m sixty-eight and live in Santa Clara County – the most infected region of Northern California.  Our retirement portfolio has been heavily hit. My wife and I just got over a heavy bout of the flu, despite yearly vaccinations. We’re at high risk from triangulating directions. Strangely, I am calm.

We stocked up on food before the latest rush, focusing on dried beans, flour, and frozen ingredients – things we could cook over time if the supply chain were impacted.  Every morning I make cafe lattes for us – no coffeehouse run needed. When my three cartons of milk run out, we’ll switch to Cafe Cubano – espresso with sugar. At some point I will need to order more beans; as I mentioned, the future is uncertain.

What does perturb me is the fragile state of so many working younger adults in our country of renowned prosperity. Truly, we have never recovered from the last recession; we did little to prepare for the one that’s upon us. So many lost homes in that madness. The financial tricksters were made whole; others became renters. Some, after years of hard work and long hours, bought back their houses with bigger loans at inflated prices.  Others never did.

Now heavy with record debt, most working Americans are terrified of the current prognosis – understandably so. The uncertainty of job status and a steady income is not assuaged by the promise of a thousand dollar check. Their statistical likelihood of recovering health does not calm the calamity that comes in its wake. Hurricane survivors are glad to be alive, but their joy is muffled by the dauting ruins in which they stand.

I am retired, finally attaining the age and station that allows me to spend time in pursuits I most enjoy: traveling with my wife, playing with my grandchildren, finally gathering up all those thoughts into stories, stories into books. I look forward to finishing those projects, to watching my children and grandchildren grow and thrive.

I’ve also been waiting to see our country mature, changing from the Wild West of guns in every holster and a winner-takes-all economy into something more collective and compassionate. I’d like to see us take care of each other, at least as a secondary sense of responsibility. Self and family first, community second, state and nation still in the top three. Someday, before the planet overheats and drives us into tribal rebellion, I’d like to see the countries of this world behave as if we all lived on the same spinning orb, as of course we do.

Calmly, objectively, I acknowledge a certain justice in this virus: nature’s way of thinning the herd.  This may seem callous, but compare it to the means we humans have used. Unnecessary warfare and unaddressed famine target all groups, especially women and the young. This virus favors the old, the infirmed – and ever so slightly, men.

I’d like to believe we’re figuring how to populate the earth we’ve been given to support growing numbers without conflict. The record figure of seventy million refugees tells me we are not. My own country’s obscene military budget and unrelenting years of war bleed hope from our political system.  Growing nationalism here and abroad further clouds the picture. I look for little rays of sunshine in the froth of ocean waves, the glint off mountain snow, the laughter bursting from the faces of
children.

In no way am I encouraging the demise of the elder crowd, myself among them. I hope a vaccine comes quickly, is distributed widely and effectively. But if we must endure a “recession of population,” harsh as that is, I’m glad it’s so demographically targeted. It’s about time the kids got a break.

I remain optimistic that we will meet this challenge, as we have when faced with uncertainty in the past.  I hope we learn from this one – especially about our global interdependence and our collective strength. And I’m glad – no, perhaps “reassured – ” that in this crisis there is a bittersweet sense of justice, a difficult choice made with apparent kindness. Nature is often harsh, but she’s worked well for us so far.

I believe “the youngers” will recover from the economic damage, will find new ways of social connection and cooperation, and will improve upon the rather bleak situation we have left them on many fronts. And I trust I’ll be here to cheer as they do.