Paying It Forward
A Positive Reflection of 2020
“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making – other plans” JOHN LENNON
Think back to this time last year, and all the exciting plans swirling in our heads. While popping bottles of champagne and making auspicious toasts on New Year’s Eve, the first case of Covid was officially being reported to the WHO. That was December 31, 2019. We woke up the next morning to what would become the longest hangover ever. Unwanted news from beyond our shores began proliferating from a wet market to a Diamond Princess to the west coast and everywhere in between almost overnight. We found ourselves yoked between the plagues of Passover and the Book of Revelations. As a kid, I would make a potpourri by piercing an orange all over with cloves, and then hang it from the ceiling so its aroma could waft throughout the room. That’s what it looked like to me when I first saw that submicroscopic infectious agent splashed across the media. Public health messages were all contradictory. Confusion was rampant. Everyone was suddenly an expert—on everything. Soon-to-be former-friends and complete
strangers argued sanctimoniously within the agora of social media or, as Lady Gaga referred to it, “The toilet of the internet.” A byproduct of the pandemic, inflamed by our social distancing, is the tenuity of our social fabric, exposed by a new kind of tribalism emotionally exploited in a hyper-charged political climate. And the biggest victims of cancel culture? Every single one of us—socially distanced, masked-up, deprived of our creative and artistic outlets and social scenes, taking stock with “2020 hindsight” of how we got here, and forced to redefine “What is my life’s ‘joy’ right now?” Sometimes it seems like we’re wading in stagnant water with the hope that the light at the end of the tunnel is in the eye of a needle. I think back to the Fukushima disaster years ago. At that time, I had been visiting a Buddhist monastery in Kyoto. Over tea, the head monk shared his thoughts with me. “There are many ways to climb Mt Fuji” he calmly spoke as he whisked our matcha, and then quietly asked, “When you return home, what will you bring with you?” After a long silence he answered for me, “You must bring your breath; all that you have breathed in.”
As the past fades in the rearview mirror, I consider one moment in particular that I’ll dust off from the ashes of the year to bring with me. It was just after the first lockdown started and the hoarding had begun. Shopping for groceries was like something out of Episode One of The Walking Dead. Through nearly empty aisles I collected only what I needed and what I could still find to feed my son for the next month, choosing strategically, quickly and quietly. I lined up, made sure to abide the arrows and stand on my mark. The cashier, now separated behind plexiglass, bagged my groceries. I handed over my cash. “Sorry, we’re not accepting cash anymore—just as a precaution.” My heart sank. That’s all I had. Looking down I could feel the disdain of the customers behind me. The manager was called. She collected my bags, and ushered me to another register. I didn’t even have the right amount, because I hadn’t factored in the tax. I looked at her name tag: “Dorien.” “What can I do, Dorien?” I sighed. She smiled. “Don’t worry. We’ll take
care of this.” “What do you mean? Why would you do that for me?” I replied in disbelief. “It’s part of our ‘Surprise and Delight’ program,” she assured me. “We know this is a tough time for everyone, and we want to help.” My eyes welled up, but I couldn’t wipe my face, because I hadn’t sanitized my hands. I felt so grateful and wanted to give her a hug, but we had to maintain our social distance. I was so moved that I could barely get out my words, “Thank you for your kindness. I will pay this forward.” This time will pass. We’ll all look back and remember those who sacrificed greatly for others through their generosity of spirit and love of humanity to quash this pandemic, and those whose misguided sense of individualism and counter intuitive notion of what they think are their rights only exacerbated the problem for all of us. Previous generations—that of my parents who were born in the Great Depression and raised during the war, and their parents who were part of The Greatest Generation, who fought in those wars, waited in bread lines and rationed at home— they knew sacrifice; they understood the utilitarian principles that enabled this generation to exist and thrive. “We make a living by what we get,” declared Winston Churchill. “We make a life by what we give.” I will never forget Dorien at Zehrs in Stratford who enabled me to feed my son for a month; my kind-hearted neighbour, Peggy, who sewed masks for us when we didn’t have; all those who sang from their balconies, and everyone who pulled it together to salvage vestiges of normality. Somehow, sometime, with love and gratitude, I’ll pay it forward.