Behind the Curve Again
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We were in Albuquerque for the weekend, to attend a memorial service for Cyndi’s uncle, Leon Aschbacher, who passed away last March. The service was in Tijeras, NM. This was the first opportunity for the family to get together and celebrate Leon’s life.
The first thing we noticed was that wearing masks was much more common in Albuquerque than in West Texas; it’s required by the state to wear a mask when in a public setting. Knowing that was a possibility, we all brought our masks with us to be prepared.
In a sense I’m embarrassed I don’t wear a mask more often back home, not because I’m afraid of getting sick (I’m not) or because I want to make a political statement (I don’t), but out of respect to society in general. There’s more than enough empirical evidence that masks reduce the spread of the virus, and wearing one, at least for me, should be a statement that I care about you and your health more than I care about my own inconvenience or independence.
The only reason I can think of for why I haven’t been wearing a mask all the time is I don’t want to be a go along with the crowd guy, or be included with the goofy people who wore plastic bottles on their head back in February. I don’t want someone to think I’m afraid, or easily scared. Mostly, in all areas of life, I push back against being told what to do. Just like most Americans.
That tendency is not my best feature. My first reaction shouldn’t be to fight back, but be humble and teachable.
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My first independent decision in the direction toward safety was when I started wearing my seat belt while driving. I was 20 years old. This was in 1976, long before it was mandatory to wear a seat belt, which happened in the 1980s. It was also long before seat belts were spring-loaded and gave the wearer freedom of movement. In my Ford Maverick, once I put the seat belt on I was stuck in place. It was completely inconvenient. But all the evidence pointed to how much safer it was; it was a logical evidence-based practice that improved the survivability of an auto accident … unmistakable and non-arguable. The only reason for not wearing a seat belt was because they were uncomfortable (true) and it was someone else’s idea “who knew what was best for me”. But I knew I would get used to the feeling of wearing a belt if I wore it every time I drove.
So I made a deliberate decision, as a college student, to wear my seat belt every time I was in the driver’s seat. It became part of my identity.
Another example: My decision to wear a helmet when cycling. This one was easier since the helmet debate occurred before I started riding – that is, during my current adult phase of cycling. Everyone I cared about or listened to wore a helmet. I chose to wear one because it was the smart thing to do.
A more appropriate comparison to wearing a mask was my decision as a cyclist mirror on my helmet so I could see traffic behind me. A lot of road cyclists think mirrors are only worn by rubes, and they won’t even consider one. I decided early on I didn’t care if the cool kids liked my gear; I wanted to see behind me, especially when merging with traffic or changing lanes.
The difference between those examples and wearing a mask is this – those decisions were made to protect me from danger; wearing a mask is to protect vulnerable people from me.
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Sitting in the hotel lobby in Albuquerque, writing in my journal, I realized I should make the same decision about wearing a mask; make a deliberate change; a pivot; a public statement not about conformity but solidarity, that you are more important than me -even if we disagree, even if you think I am a foolish sheep merely following the scared crowd, even if you think I am a slave to fear or captured by the 24-hour news networks (which I never watch). Even then.
Here’s the thing: If we lived anywhere but West Texas I’d be wearing a mask all the time already. The decision wouldn’t be mine – it would be made for me. And while I often bend or break rules to make my life easier to live, I usually do it in such a way no else notices. I don’t want my identity to be a stubborn rebel. It’s hard to share love and grace with people when they think of you as a hardened angry grouch.
So I bought two new masks (black, like Zorro would wear), and I’m committed to wearing them. I doubt it’ll happen immediately. I’m notoriously slow to change my patterns and routines. But I’ll try.
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While I was pondering all this in the hotel lobby in Albuquerque I noticed a Facebook memory from several years ago, when I had posted lyrics to a Steven Curtis Chapman song, The Walk:
You can run with the big dogs
You can fly with the eagles
You can jump through all the hoops
And climb the ladder to the top
But when it all comes down
You know it all comes down to this
Do justly, love mercy
Walk humbly with your God
This convicted me even more. Am I more interested in planting my flag and declaring my right to make my own decisions, like mask wearing or seat belt wearing or helmet and mirror wearing, or in living humbly with my God.
I fully understand I’m decidedly behind the curve regarding masks. Not only that, the whole mask-wearing decision is only a temporary thing. It will be over soon. Neither are good reasons to do the wrong thing.
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By the way, this isn’t what I thought I would be writing about last Saturday morning, or even what had been on my mind … this is simply where my pen and paper took me. I goes that way sometimes.
But the decision whether to love my neighbor as myself, to put other people first, to do justly, love mercy, to walk humbly with God … that’s a lifelong decision that comes back over and over. It is my prayer that making the humble and teachable decisions will get easier, and in the future I’ll do it sooner, with less hesitation.
