Taking Out the Bad with the Inn
2020 has been quite the year. For me, you, and the space in between.
George Floyd was killed in Minnesota in May. Protests for racial equality erupted and anti-protests gained traction. A large chunk of the noise and voices have quelled, though a large portion persevere and continue. Social media has been a place for bigotry, sympathy, uncertainty, alpha predator mentalities, and fear. 2020 has shaped us all into mongers of some sort.
Covid-19 has reshaped landscapes and ravished national censuses. We’ve all lost something, or someone dear to us. This continues worldwide (though places like the United States seem to be more willingly acceptant of this), just as the protests and online propaganda do.
Millions, no, tens of millions have lost their employment. During a time where the future of one’s health can be dictated by a single handshake or grocery cart, this is exceptionally disturbing.
Major American celebrities and figureheads have been dismantled by Cancel Culture. A circus of human trafficking is being investigated. TikTok has become the new Vine, Disney hasn’t released a Marvel film, and thousands fear for their futures. And, the most polarizing presidential election season in United States’ history looms over the country’s residents like a mist that won’t lift from the deepest bayous of Hades’ rivers flooded with souls of the damned.
A silver lining is hard to find. The “silver lining” is, frankly, bullshit in a year like 2020. But, they can exist. Though, they likely reside at the individual level.
I am a recipient of one such lining.
Mental health has become a major talking point throughout the world in the recent past. It’s no longer limited to depression or major psychological disorders. Health professionals, family members, friends, and individuals are holding the term with warmer palms. People who feel odd, different, changed, or awoken to their state are seeking help.
I am one such individual. Granted I’ve taken baby steps. Talking to friends, yet still afraid to speak with family, I’ve voiced concerns about my mindset.
Losing work and being isolated indoors for the better part of five months brought certain things to my attention.
There were rarely distractions from these things. When there were, they were the type of distractions that incited deep, intense emotion. The fight for justice. Herculean headlines that paved routes to heartbreak through the narrow pathways of their paragraphs. The washing away of old friends and now tainted memories. The roaring booms of regret through conversation and the hollowness of conversations with oneself.
Positive bliss existed sometimes, but the overcast lighting never strayed far from the forecast.
A few weeks ago was the worst time. Unable to avoid the mental traffic, the worst thoughts were personified. Many different clichés could fill this specific paragraph. At the core, the simplest one would be the act of being one’s worst enemy.
That sounded stupid, but it isn’t untrue. I relied on a few close friends to guide me during those weeks. I haven’t told them how much their listening and words meant and mean to me.
Even still, they weren’t a vaccine.
Recently, I’ve found a medication that works. It’s not a pill or a couch with overpaid perpendicular ears. This prescription is the type of distraction that works for the self-diagnosed such as myself. It being work itself.
Work at a place that I enjoy. A familiar role in a building I already knew. It has realigned the unsteady tracks that I was unwillingly following. Now, I’m the conductor of my own train.
I will not mention the name of this place, and, in truth, if members of this establishment were to read this they likely wouldn’t know that I was talking about them. I have no deep connection with the building or this specific business. I don’t have a memorable connection with any of it’s community members.
But, I will always remember the way I feel walking inside each day. An escape from a galaxy I fear. A chance to press pause and walk away. A bunch of other cliché or original phrases that you could copy and paste.
This particular place of employment is a treasure. For many reasons and to many people. But to me, it is a sanctuary where I can board without luggage. Guaranteed passage and amnesty from life beyond its walls. An Inn where out is never a persistent thought.
Is it a cure? No. It’s not even medication. It is simply, again, a distraction.
Though, I would argue that sometimes a distraction is more valuable than the vowels and milligrams posted on pharmacy twist offs. More necessary than child locks in backseats and steel bars on amusement park rides.
I can tell you firsthand, a distraction can be the difference between living and dying.
