It’s three in the morning, and–good lord–I need to keep this short. All day long I’ve been engrossed in conversations about and preparations for COVID-19. Perhaps this is rightly so. Cases are popping up, well, more than anyone would like. Consequently, schools are closing, small and large gatherings are being canceled or postponed, and people are washing their hands like crazy. (Some, I understand, for the first time in their lives.) This afternoon I went to the library and learned they’re wiping down their hard surfaces with disinfectant three times a day. Scrubbing the outside of books like it’s going out of style. “But what are they doing about the insides?” a friend of mine asked. “What if someone sneezes on the inside of a book?”

This, of course, is what’s got people so afraid. When it comes to viruses, we simply don’t know where they may be lurking. If we wanted to, we could drive ourselves mad imagining.

Historically in these types of situations (like flu season or Y2K), it’s been difficult for me to find the happy medium between panic and apathy. Like, I’m either completely paranoid or totally flippant. More and more I’m learning to find balance. To not scare myself to death, but to not bury my head in the sand either. Along these lines, I haven’t been overly concerned about COVID-19 until recently, despite my having a sister who’s been paying more than close attention to the subject for six weeks now. “I know you think I’m crazy,” she says. Then she adds, “But you don’t know what I know.”

Granted. I certainly don’t claim to be an expert on the topic. If you watch the news, you probably know more than I do, so let’s be clear–it’s not my objective to inform anyone about the facts. This being said, I have spent a fair amount of time in grocery stores this week and am listening intently to the conversations of friends and strangers, and here’s what I know–people are afraid. At the very least, they’re cautious. To this end, the toilet paper shelves at at least two of our Walmarts are completely barren, as they are at our Target. Tonight between eleven and one in the morning, upon my sister’s encouragement, I stocked up on non-perishables for me and my parents, and there wasn’t an ounce of disinfectant to be found. Otherwise, I didn’t have much problem finding things, although they were EXTREMELY low on rice, Ramen, peanut butter, and canned soups, fruits, and vegetables.

My sister says that stocking up isn’t panicking; it’s preparing. To me this makes sense. If you don’t get sick or quarantined, fine, you’ve got some extra food. If you do, you’ve got food period. Plus, the fewer trips to the grocery store you make, the more you limit exposure to yourself and others. And even if all of this doesn’t persuade you (which really isn’t my objective here, do what you want to do), there’s the fact that plenty of other people are stocking up, and therefore certain supplies will soon become much harder to come by. Toilet paper, for example.

Honestly, and I realize this may be future fodder for me and my therapist (the people, not the blog), one of my biggest concerns when I think about the possibility of getting COVID-19 is that it could keep me from finishing three consecutive years of blogging. I think, What if I got too sick to write, or died?! What if I couldn’t finish? But then I take a deep breath and remember that the truth is, it would be okay. I’ve done more than enough here.

In this sense, I think there’s benefit in contemplating your personal worst case scenario with respect to this thing. Because, let’s face it, we’re all leaving this planet one day, so the sooner we confront our fears, the better. This is part of the reason I’m so determined and vigilant to “deal with my shit” through therapy, this blog, EMDR, and other methods. I simply refuse to be a slave to my fears if I don’t have to. So I’m like, Let’s deal with them. Let’s get them out on the table. Let’s look our monsters in the eyes.

Let’s ask ourselves, “What am I really afraid of?”

One thing I’ve realized from thinking about the possibility of dying–and dying soon–is that if I did die, I’d leave this world satisfied. Not that there aren’t a hundred other things I’d like to do and accomplish, but I really do have a deep feeling of pride and satisfaction having (almost) completed this blog. Like, I believe it was and is part of the reason I’ve been put on this planet and part of my legacy, my gift to humanity, including myself. And I’ve done it. I’ve risen to the occasion, and I’ve done it. I haven’t shared every detail of my life (that’s never been the point), but I’ve created and given something true. Not that every word is gospel, I’m just saying this is honest and real, from my heart. And I would hope that everyone, if they had to leave the planet tomorrow, could feel this good about something they’ve done and the life they’ve lived.

Like, I did it right this time.