The Isolation Journals - Day 2

The Isolation Journals, Day 2

I know I said this was a reason to get out of bed, but I'm a snake and left my journal on my nightstand last night.  I wrote this in bed, not with a Jerry Seinfeld astronaut pen, but with a pencil like a normal human.  I only use pens when I'm doing the crossword and signing checks.  Pencils or GTFO.

Today's prompt, paraphrased, was to put yourself in a moment when you were not fine (terrible, excellent?).  Why did you lie and say you were fine?  Whose feelings were you trying to spare?  What do you wish you would have said, and where would that honesty have led you?

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I loathe small talk.  I hate the trite and hollow call and response of how are you/fine, you.  And yet I do it.  I ask people how they are, expecting a fine.  When I get an honest earful from an acquaintance, I'm annoyed.  

Whoa.  Whoa.  Slow your rolling pity party, you are failing to honor this unspoken social contract.

But why am I like that?  It's hypocritical for one thing.  Do I really just not care?  Am I actually in that much of a rush to complete a transaction?  Or do I resent that this other person had the courage to be honest?  Do I wish I was brave enough to reveal that things aren't perfect, and do I wish I trusted others enough to care?

Why do I perpetuate the myth of fine?

Not a single one of us is fine right now.  Sure, some people are less terrible than others.  I haven't (yet) lost my job, my health, or anyone I care about (though Tom Hanks really gave us all a scare there for a minute).  

It's that yet that really strangles me right now.  Admitting that I am not fine forces me to acknowledge the yet.  We could lose our jobs or some of our income.  We could get sick, and so could our loved ones.  We can be so careful and work so hard and still not always be fine.  

Admitting that I'm not fine is admitting I don't have it all under control, and right now that's terrifying.  

The next time someone asks me how I am, will I tell the truth?  It depends.  If it's the grocery store cashier, am I going to peer into the bucket of truth and unleash 34 years of existential terror on someone who is just doing her best to stay alive and keep a roof over her head?  Shit no.  There are sins worse than lying.  But if someone close to me asks, well, pull up a chair and grab a drink.  You're gonna need it.