The Oxygen Mask

It’s perhaps the most famous safety announcement of all time - “Put on your own oxygen mask first.” It’s also a widely used metaphor for what to do in a crisis.

Here in the land of individualism and meritocracy, we Americans tend to take this metaphor to heart; at least the first part of the statement. Generally speaking, our interpretation seems to be “me first.” Full stop.

Regardless of the carrier you fly, the oxygen mask announcement essentially states: “Please place the mask over your own mouth and nose first, before assisting others.” The gist is, “If you can’t breathe, you’re of little use in helping your child, loved one, or fellow passenger.” But the message is not akin to simply stating, “save yourself.”

The implication is clear: In case of emergency, once you’re breathing correctly, your next responsibility is to help anyone else in need. Yes, save yourself, then get busy saving others.

Many of us talk about the “taking care our ourselves first” part, but we’re not always as comfortable with the assisting others part. If you’re a parent or travel with family members that may require help, you likely think about this safety instruction differently. But the reality is, no matter who we are, we are all ultimately on the journey together.

The homeless, the addicted, the conspiracy theorist , the immigrant (legal or otherwise), and even the privileged among us - they are all fellow passengers and helping them get “oxygen” is our moral responsibility.

One of the infamous statements of last year’s protest movement is, “I can’t breathe.” These three words have become a rallying cry and if you look closely, there are many among us who are also saying this sentiment in some way, shape, or form.

The homeless person is essentially saying, “I can no longer stand on my own two feet.” The addicted individual is really saying, “I am traumatized and will do anything to escape.” The jobless and economically disadvantaged are basically saying, “I can barely keep my head above water.” Those that have suffered abuse, neglect, and racism are in effect saying, “I am wounded and devastated.” Even some prosperous individuals can feel so disconnected at times they feel “homeless.” In essence, many of the poor, deprived, oppressed, and brokenhearted among us cannot breathe - in some cases, literally.

I don’t know what it’s like to be homeless or the victim of racism. I’ve never been destitute, incarcerated, or addicted to an illicit substance. But I do know what it’s like to have a broken heart. I can tell you first hand, having your heart shattered feels a lot like not being able to breathe. In that way I can relate.

If we’re willing, most of us can relate to heartbreak, shame, or trauma and once you can relate to and empathize with others, it’s easier to breathe. As the adage goes, once we’re breathing properly, we can start assisting those that are having difficulty doing so on their own.

We are increasingly a divided society and many seem to only want to help those that think, look, or vote like they do. This is seen in our political discourse where some decry “America first” while others seek to “cancel” those that don’t follow their rules, have a different opinion, or have made a past mistake.

It’s understandable that when we feel threatened, we look to protect our own. But such thinking is also short-sided and outdated in the construct of the world we now inhabit. If climate change, the COVID-19 virus, the new information age, and global economy teaches us anything, these issues tell us that ultimately, there are no real borders. In a global crisis, there is no us and them. In a true emergency, there are no democrats and republicans, rich and poor, or woke individuals and canceled.

I have a friend who uses the hashtag #humanityfirst (thanks for the idea Matt) in many of his posts. He’s right. No one really comes first, humanity does. We are all on this mother ship earth together. We are all fellow passengers and we must stop patronizing, demonizing, and hating the “other” side. The real moral dilemma of our time is when so many of our fellow passengers are suffering and lacking oxygen, what are we doing about it?

I’m sure there are some who are looking at me and saying, ‘that’s a cute little metaphor Eric, but c’mon, it’s a little naive don’t you think?’

No, I don’t. I fundamentally believe that love is the answer and that love doesn’t stop at your front door, neighborhood boundary, prison walls, or national borders. We need to support our neighbors, educate criminals, help the addicted and homeless, and even, dare I say, love our enemies (I read that somewhere).

For those who aren’t spiritually minded please forgive the analogy, but the oxygen mask metaphor also parallels another famous human survival rule – “love your neighbor as yourself.” Have we really stopped lately to think which neighbors? I’m not a theologian, but I am pretty sure the “Golden Rule” refers to ALL of our neighbors. But from my view, much of our current attitude goes something like this: My needs first, then my family, community, and country (or at least the half of the country that agrees with me).

Many feel like the ship is sinking or the plane is losing oxygen at this moment. The state of the country, health of the planet, and the constitution of our collective character all seem to be in a perilous and precarious condition. It’s hard to disagree with this assessment. Things do appear to be drastic and urgent and if the oxygen mask hasn’t dropped for you yet, my guess is it will sooner or later. But if you look closely, the remedy is right there in the airline safety announcement.

Step one. Put on your mask. Love. Forgive. Express gratitude and humility. Breathe.

Step two: Help your neighbor do the same.

Greener Grass

In 2017 my wife and I moved from Denver to Vail, Colorado. It had long been a dream of ours to live in a mountain town and after calling Denver home for five years, we found new jobs, made the big move, and made our dream a reality.

In my previous life, metropolitan living always appealed to me with the organic sense of energy, culture, and diversity that residing in a city can provide. But in recent years, urban life has also become more problematic. Some of the cities I have called home for years (Portland, Seattle, San Diego, and Denver) have become rampant with homelessness, drug use, crime, traffic, and a skyrocketing cost of living. There’s also the seeming ineptness of many city governments to address these issues.

Just blocks from where we lived in downtown Denver, there were masses of tents set up on city sidewalks surrounded by garbage and filth. We commonly witnessed aggressive panhandling, scenes of horrific drug abuse, and abject poverty. A few years ago on her morning walk to work, my wife came across a homeless man masturbating in front of her. The summer before we left Denver, I witnessed a woman in her underwear leaning up against our building with a needle still sticking out of her arm. And that was city life before 2020. It was time to get out of Dodge.

Many of our great cities have been in crisis in recent years, but now cities have also been particularly hit by the current global pandemic (not to mention mass demonstrations and civil unrest). Especially given that many people can now work remotely, living in a community like mine seems like a no-brainer.

Fleeing the problems of city life wasn’t the impetus for our move to the mountains, but it certainly was a factor. When I walk in my neighborhood now, instead of homelessness, piled up garbage, and discarded needles, I’m surrounded by the serenity of vast forests and clean mountain air. Our new home isn’t immune from problems, but I must admit Vail has been a pretty nice place to ride out 2020.

My personal greener grass narrative is not a unique story. Especially this year, people have been flocking to communities like mine in droves. In some cases they are literally showing up with suitcases of cash to make their escape plans a reality. Protecting your family and moving to higher ground or a safer address seem like prudent solutions, but recently I have started questioning if “getting out of Dodge” really solves anything.

Most don’t have the option of just leaving their jobs and communities or the means of simply picking up and moving to a place like Vail. I’ve also learned many times in life that the grass isn’t always greener as the old adage states. Speaking from personal experience, a change of address won’t protect you from past mistakes, inoculate you from future set backs, or heal a broken heart.

Living in Vail also won’t insulate you from inequality, drug and alcohol abuse, and homelessness. Living in the mountains won’t protect you from COVID or even civil unrest. In fact, with a one-dimensional economy based on tourism, the immense cost of living, and the massive divide between have and have not’s, life in Vail is potentially just as precarious as it is in urban San Francisco or New York.

The fact of the matter is our whole society is ailing, not just certain geographic locations. While parts of our country do seem sicker than others, moving won’t help change the spread of the deadly diseases we’re facing.

The pandemic we’ve been living with this past year is obviously a disease. But so are the addictions of social media, gambling, and pornography that have been steadily rising in recent years. So are the drug and alcohol epidemics that have been raging for the past 20 years. So is the obesity epidemic that has been growing for the past 30 years. So are disparities of wealth, wage stagnation, corporate greed, and a system that favors the powerful that has been growing for the past 40 years. So are the abhorrent qualities of racism and narcissism that have been part culture for hundreds of years.

These are sicknesses that we have collectively perpetuated and we are all ultimately responsible for addressing them. These cancerous problems are growing everywhere, and it’s going to take all of us to solve them. Just blaming the “other side” solves nothing and frankly neither will moving to Texas, the mountains, or the beach.

For decades we’ve touted individual responsibility as the solution to our dilemmas while blatantly ignoring corporate irresponsibility and allowing the ineptitude of government. We’ve imprisoned millions and have declared wars on terrorism, crime, poverty, drugs, and fat only to make most of these issues far worse. Our response to the problems we face seems to be “everyone for themselves.” You don’t like being poor - get a job. You don’t like being addicted - stop using. You don’t like being heavy - start exercising. You don’t like your city – move.

And how’s that working for us?

Sicknesses don’t heal without addressing the root causes. There isn’t a vaccine for contempt, a magic cure for inequality, or a drug cocktail for racism. Shoving the unpleasant filth of homelessness to another location or putting drug users in jail does not eradicate the disease. A “can do” attitude doesn’t treat the gaping wounds of our nation’s crises of mental health, addiction, and inequality.

I’ve moved cities, states, and changed careers multiple times. I am a living testament that the grass isn’t always greener. I’ve learned the hard way that healing begins with both radical humility and brutal honesty. Healing begins with the ability to listen, the courage to speak out, and the willingness to stand up. Healing begins by expressing love and creating community.

Greener grass doesn’t start with a change of address, but a shift of consciousness.

The Language of Love

As I have been watching the events and occurrences of this year, I find myself struggling to find the right balance. I feel a yearning to act and to speak out, but I also feel apprehensive at times - like I’m not sure what to say. In reflecting on the volatility of our country and the fragility of life, many unanswered questions come to mind: What’s the right thing to do moving forward? How do we repair wrongs of the past? How do we speak with those with whom there’s seemingly little or no common ground?

What is the right language for this moment?

My late Father taught me that what’s most important isn’t my opinion, what my friends think of me, how I vote, or even how I pray - What matters most is how I love. In short, the “language” I use will define the path I am on and the actions I take.

Though we all have the capacity to speak and demonstrate it, love is a language that is not always our primary expression. Ego, pride, anger, judgment, and regret are voices that sometimes drown out our native tongue.

The truth is no matter what our differences, origins, or opinions, we all have the ability to communicate in a common language of grace, acceptance, and empathy. This language called love reminds me of a powerful story I recall from 20 years ago involving one of my childhood idols, Bono.

As arguably the biggest rock star in the world back in 2001, “Bono” (Paul David Hewson of U2 fame) sat down to lunch with an unabashed racist and narrow-minded bigot.

At that time, there was a global pandemic that was decimating the continent of Africa. As we know by now, pandemics know no borders, but AIDS by the year 2000 was largely controlled, treatable, and preventable in wealthy and developed nations. In poverty stricken Africa however, AIDS was still a death sentence for millions.

Feeling that something drastic needed to be done, Bono decided to throw the full weight of his fame and influence behind the issue. He sought bipartisan support and funding to combat the pandemic. Standing in his way was Republican Senator Jesse Helms.

According to the Forbes article “I will follow”, there was no greater opponent of AIDS funding at that time than Senator Helms. Helms, a conservative evangelical, had harshly spoken out against the LGBT community calling them “perverts” and “weak, morally sick wretches.” He referred to AIDS as “a gay disease.” I won’t even mention his deplorable and toxic views on race.

In response, did Bono galvanize his global base of millions of fans and try to shame Senator Helms out of office? Did he call Helms out as the racist bigot he was? Did he belittle the religious right? Did he encourage his followers to show up at state capitals to protest with guns?

Not exactly. Instead of using his platform to shout back at Helms, Bono invited him to lunch. He then tirelessly met with evangelical leaders and listened to them. He cited Bible versus about poverty and respectfully spoke their language. In learning how to work with his adversaries, Bono commented: “When you have a person who may appear rigidly opposed to something, look for ways to widen the aperture of their narrow idealistic view.”

Elaborating on his response, Bono continued: “I've learned to speak in a lot of tongues, and I can live with the bellicose language of some fervent, fire-breathing Christians...It's not my language, but actually, I don't mind how people come to this, to the front line on this. People have different motivations. I surprise myself [about] how much I've learned from conservatives, not coming from that vein, even conservative Christians whose beliefs I don't share.”

The rest is, as they say, history. Senator Helms became a staunch and vocal supporter of AIDS funding and research. He even became a fan of U2. With global support, Africa in turn has made incredible strides in the fight against AIDS.

Bono’s selfless actions led to significant progress on the global AIDS crisis. But did his efforts also excuse Helm’s blatantly racist and bigoted past? What about justice and punishment? What about being right? After all, while Martin Luther King Jr. preached that, “Only love” (can drive out hate) he also said, “there comes a time when silence is betrayal.”

How and when to speak up and out are fair questions, especially in our current political climate. But as Dr. King stated and as Bono demonstrated in his work fighting the AIDS pandemic, to make real progress and effect lasting change, sometimes you have to meet people where they are at - even if those people are reprehensible in your view.

Still, it’s tempting to see being right as the most important thing. It’s no secret that we all love to be right. We even receive a rush of dopamine when we read something that mirrors our own opinion. Certainly, it’s natural to surround yourself with others that share your beliefs. It’s undoubtedly courageous to speak out and stand for justice.

But only talking to like-minded individuals that share your opinion simply creates an echo chamber, not progress. And drawing a line in the sand isn’t necessarily the same as getting something done.

More than anything right now, we need to speak the language of love. Narrow-mindedness, hatred, bigotry, and selfishness, and aren’t working. While silence certainly isn’t the answer, neither is hatefully shouting back. If your enemy is filled with judgment and hate, let it be their hate. Contempt, racism, injustice, and even apathy will die with those that refuse to let these qualities go. But only love can actually heal these conditions and make rights out of wrongs. Hate simply cannot survive in the face of love.

Look, I don’t know much about the science of global pandemics. I don’t what it’s like to be the victim of senseless racism or blatant discrimination. I can’t comprehend what it’s like to carry the burden of hundreds of years of oppression and persecution. I don’t have the answers to our political dysfunction and I certainly don’t know much about being a rock star or a US senator. But I do know that no matter what the situation is, my job is to listen with humility, stand up for justice, and speak with the language of love. I don’t have all of the answers, but I do know that love is the answer.

Groundhog Day

Lately I’ve been feeling like Bill Murray in the movie Groundhog Day. In recent weeks it’s the same routine, the same uncertainty, and the same boredom day in and day out.

Every night it feels like I’m watching a rerun of the previous night’s evening news - COVID-19, the failing economy, and the anger on both sides of the open or not debate. It’s as if tonight’s news could have been two months ago or two months from now. Like Groundhog Day, life seems to be stuck at a standstill and on auto repeat.

The illusion of feeling stuck in an endless day is enough to drive one mad. As Einstein once said, “The separation between past, present and future is only an illusion, although a convincing one.” Of course, time isn’t really stuck and there is movement, but it’s easy to feel hopeless if you look in the wrong places.

When I have faced vast uncertainty in my life - Losing my job, the end of a close relationship, the passing of a loved one, a global pandemic, two things tend to happen. First, the days get really long and I’m prone to escape these endless hours with distractions and numbing. Secondly, I spend much of my time ruminating and dwelling on the past or future. Looking back, I rehash my missteps and fall into the pratfalls of guilt and shame. When I’m not looking back, I turn my gaze towards the what’s to come. My brain keeps me up at night spinning in a merry go round of yet unanswered questions: “What’s going to happen? Where will I go? What will I do? What if this pain never ends?” The list goes on.

It’s a cycle I have repeated many, many times throughout the years. Then something brings me back to the moment. To the present. To what I have always known – there is only now and love is the answer.

In the movie Groundhog Day when faced with the prospect of having to repeat the same day over and over again, Bill Murray’s character, Phil Connors first embraces his plight by indulging his every desire from binge eating to habitually womanizing. But eventually these distractions lose their allure and Phil becomes despondent, determining that suicide is the only choice left. But even that doesn’t work - the days keep coming. Only love offers him a way out.

Like Phil Connors, when I have felt stuck, I’ve tried almost every trick in the book (minus the robbery and suicide attempts). My indulgences range from comfort food to cold beer; YouTube clips to endless scrolling on my phone. At some point my wife inevitably pleads with me to put the phone down and be present.

It’s good advice. It’s really the only advice - There is only now, use it wisely.

Remember when you were a little kid? Your parents would tell you it was only three weeks until your birthday or three months until the family trip to Disneyland. You’d wake up every day asking, “is today the day?” But three weeks might as well have been three years to a three year old. As a small child you had no concept of time. There is no yesterday or tomorrow, only today.

As adults many are inclined to trade the wonder of living in the present for the tug of war between blissful memories and wishful thinking. We internalize regret and mull over the paralyzing uncertainty of the future. To cope with this loop of hope, fear and remorse, we tend to form “busy” lives with jobs, families, and activities.

Only discipline or a crisis breaks this cycle of busyness. The discipline of mindfulness allows you to see the truth about time and a crisis forces you to reevaluate how you use it. Sometimes a crisis is necessary to wake us up and ground us on a new foundation. Sometimes discipline is necessary to remind us what we already know - there is only now, use it wisely.

This year Punxsutawney Phil did not see his shadow and predicted an early spring. While temperatures have stayed generally above average, ironically, ‘winter’ still endures for many. Darkness feels prevalent, sickness is in the air, and we yearn for the new beginnings of spring.

I’m guessing this moment likely isn’t your favorite moment. This pandemic has brought a lot of primal fear, anger, and dysfunction to the surface. In response, maybe you’re looking back pining away for the good old busy days. Maybe you’re using your time now swimming in a sea of distractions: surfing, scrolling, and binging. Or maybe you’re up late at night paralyzed with fear about the future. 

In these present circumstances, sometimes life feels like Groundhog Day. Add in a heavy dose of fear and uncertainty and the choices can feel limited - escape the present, wish for the past, or hope for the future. All seem like reasonable choices given the climate of quarantines, protests, and social distancing.

I can’t blame you for looking back, escaping the present, or worrying about the future. I’m certainly guilty on most days. But then I remember that I only have one job - to love - my Maker, my neighbor, and myself.

Love is an activity that is only available in the present. As Phil Connors learned in that classic movie, sandwiched between meditating on the past and an imagined future, the present ultimately offers no choice but to love. When faced with immense hatred, the tumultuous Sixties, and the vast uncertainty of the future, Martin Luther king Jr. said, “We have before us the glorious opportunity to inject a new dimension of love into the veins of our civilization.” We too have this glorious opportunity.

Whether it’s real life or a movie script, the futile effort of trying to escape the moment only exacerbates our circumstances. The past is merely an unreliable memory, the future is yet an unknown mystery, and the present offers us the opportunity to go deeper and to love. There is only now, use it wisely.