Category: Slide Deck (front page)

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Covid chronicles

It was looking like a smooth-sailing Saturday, so I announced to my wife and father-in-law that I would be availing myself of the newly legalized practice of “eating weed.” “I’ll be having an edible and a beer, then spending the afternoon on the patio communing with the birds. Y’all have fun volunteering at the homeless shelter.” I went back to my studio, popped an edible from the stash I had procured a fews days prior, grabbed my guitar, then headed back through the living room to begin my journey. On passing my wife I noticed she was coughing, and she remarked that she woke with a headache earlier in the morning. My father-in-law suggested that she test herself for covid once they got to the shelter for their afternoon shift. About an hour or so later, just as the edible was taking effect, my wife texted me to let me know she had tested positive. She said that she would be bringing a test home for me to take, and that she would need me to pick her Dad up later on, at the end of his shift. I was immediately hit with a wave of regret for having already fully committed myself to an altered state of consciousness for the remainder of the day. When my wife returned home, she quickly scooted past me back to the master bedroom to begin her five days of quarantine, but not before handing me the covid test and saying, “The directions are pretty self-explanatory.” I think she was so caught up in her anxiety about having covid that she forgot I was baked out of my gourd. This was definitely not a good time for me to have to navigate my way through a covid test, although I eventually found a way through and tested negative. About an hour later it was time to drive across town to pick up my father-in-law, but I was “peaking” at that point, so I told my wife that we should look for other options. She was clearly annoyed, as if it were irresponsible of me to incapacitate myself on this of all days. I thought about throwing caution to the wind, but since I have no experience driving high, I was not about to make it two regrettable decisions in a row. Someone ended up giving my father-in-law a lift home.

As one can imagine, I didn’t enjoy a chill time on the patio with the birds. There was too much stress and anxiety in the air. Fortunately my father-in-law and I remained negative for covid for the remaining few days of his visit. Since my wife was quarantined in the master bedroom and my father-in-law had the guest room, I was crashing on the floor of my studio. On the morning of his departure, my father-in-law woke with a hoarse voice and a runny nose. I was relieved that he tested negative, so that he could get the bloody hell out of my house and to the airport, but I was not surprised when he called the next day to announce he tested positive for covid. It was just a matter of time at that point and, sure enough, I tested positive a few days later.

Presently, I am in day three of quarantine, and after a rough day two of body aches, chills, coughing and a wicked headache, it seems I’ve turned the corner toward recovery. This is the first time I’ve been sick since I was diagnosed with chronic lymphocytic leukemia, which was just before the pandemic hit. Blood cancer patients have had particularly bad outcomes with covid, so I’ve been feeling a palpable lack of confidence in my immune system’s capacity to carry me through. So far, it seems as if my leukemia is sufficiently “early stage,” and so it’s not having the impact on my immune functioning that I feared. There was only one way to find out, and it was bound to happen eventually.

Since I have the week off from work, I figured “Why not set up a Substack?” And so here we are.  Why bother? Who knows. I’m always searching for inspiration to get on a fresh roll, and perhaps this will do the the trick.

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HTG Podcast #56: Cognitively Distorting

In this episode of the Head The Gong Podcast, I “rant out my ass” about how our inherent negativity bias is being amplified by internet algorithms to distort our sense of what is happening in this wild wild world.

[From a recent exchange on Reddit]:

My main point, however, was intended to be this: that negativity bias (amplified by the algorithms) will distort our perception of how bad things are, regardless of how bad they actually are. Even if these really are the worst of times, it’s well worth reflecting on how our perception and felt sense of “how things are” are formed and constituted. It’s not a simple matter of being informed, and/or choosing to be a steely-eyed realist. Whenever I hear someone describe the “state of the world” solely in terms of the most dire and the most existentially threatening aspects, I worry that their reality filter is calibrated in a way that is both objectively inaccurate (in that it discounts the good stuff) and self-sabotaging (in that it undermines mental health).

I’m 51, and I’m well aware of all of the terrible things that are unfolding on our planet, just as I am well aware of all the terrible things happening (and that have happened, and that will happen) in my own personal life. Whether or not civilization is headed toward collapse in the next thirty years, I can say with confidence that I am personally headed that way. Even in the worst of circumstances, however, we should guard against defining “the actual state of reality” by merely summing up all the most terrible things. This is the very definition of negativity bias. Our brains are likely tuned by evolution to highlight that which is threatening and scary. News/social media algorithms can, in my opinion, amplify this tendency in a way that further distorts our perception of “what is happening in the world.” That distortion is important to guard against even (and perhaps especially) in the midst of a global pandemic, a climate crisis, or the death-throes of civilization.  So, yeah, we’re all fucked, from a certain perspective. But there’s way, way more to “the actual state of the world” than what’s fucked-up about it. Clearly perceiving this can make the difference between being realistic and being depressed. Distortion (as well as distraction, which is another potential mode of digital media consumption) prevents clear perception.

I suppose that, like all of you, I’m just trying to justify my own sense of reality. I’m a mental health professional who works with kids in an underserved community, and I see clearly the suffering that comes with poverty, abuse, and trauma. And yet, I love my job, and it mostly consists of wonderful interactions with amazing kids. The kids themselves, even those in the worst of circumstances, are far more resilient and joyful than one might think, despite the very real challenges that need to be addressed every day.  In my own life, I was diagnosed with blood cancer right at the start of the pandemic, which of course is worrisome, but aside from the initial shock, it hasn’t stopped me from being happy and loving life almost all of the time. When I lost my Dad and younger brother several years ago, I never fell into despair, nor did I following romantic heartbreaks, and I’m not falling into despair over anything I see happening on the news either. I donate a fair amount of money. I vote for the change I want to see in my community and in society. I help when and where I can. I pay attention to the shit-storm to the extent that it fuels direct actions that are within my control, then I get back to enjoying life. I’m extremely fortunate to have the life and mindset that I have, I know. But I guard and cultivate my attention like the quality of my life depends on it, because it does. Awareness of negativity bias and cognitive distortions has helped me tremendously in this regard. I hope it can benefit all of you as well.

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Alan Watts on the nature of truth (1959)

Sometimes when I listen to the old recordings Alan Watts left behind, I imagine them as a present-day podcast, and I think, “This is better, more interesting, and more relevant than 99.9% of anything I’m listening to in 2021.” Here he reflects on the nature of truth, in 1959. 

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Letters to Old Bob #5

[For context, see Letters to Old Bob #1, #2, #3, and #4]

April 4, 2020

Elderly Robert,

It’s been too long. Years, I know. I guess I just sort of forgot about you, which is too bad and a sign of the times, when old people are put out to pasture, or worse yet, sacrificed during global pandemics so that the rest of us can keep getting paid. I’m sure you recall the COVID-19, coronavirus thing back in 2020. I hope you recall it, anyway, and didn’t succumb to it, since you, you know, were diagnosed with leukemia and all that, just a couple of months before shit went to shit. Okay, I just put a lot on the table there, Bobbo. You see, this whole concept of “Old Bob” took a big hit when the doc told me, “You’ve got cancer.” Now I’m not confident there will be an Old Bob, and let me tell you, that uncertainty has thrown me for a loop. The future was always uncertain, of course, but now the odds have shifted significantly out of my favor.

“Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia,” as you well know, is extremely “heterogeneous,” meaning it could take a horrific turn at any time, or not do much of anything for years, even decades. Throw in COVID-19 – a highly contagious novel virus that could wreak havoc on my compromised immune system – and I’m starting to feel like one of those little marbles bouncing around the edge of a roulette wheel. Who the fuck knows what hole I might slip in to, and how many chips might be on the table. So there you have it, venerable Bob. It’s difficult to keep you in focus right now, because “old” Bob might mean 49-year-old Bob, as in Me Bob, Now Bob. Could it be that, in the grand scheme of things, I AM Old Bob, I AM End-of-the-road Bob? In which case, I’m writing this not to my future self, but to my present self?

I’m not 100% sure, but I think today marks the 7th anniversary of my father’s death. He was 68. He too was diagnosed – a few years before he died – with CLL, but at the time he was already dying of congestive heart failure, and it is unclear whether or not his CLL contributed to his demise. You know this Old Bob, Now Bob, so I don’t need to explain the details. It is exceeding rare to have two members of the same family have this disease, very rare to get it in one’s 40s, and pretty damned rare to get it at all. We’re rare birds, Old Bob. You, me, and Dear Old Dad. And these are rare, strange times, as the entire species huddles in their homes hoping not be one of the unlucky bounces of the COVID-19 roulette wheel. We just might meet, you and I, a lot sooner than I expected. If so, let me just say, it’s been an interesting conversation, my friend.