Drought.

Bushfires.

Floods.

COVID.

Recession.

Riots.

We are six months into 2020 and I feel like this has been the worst decade of my entire life. To be clear, I mean these last six months feel like ten years. Where I could understand anxiety from an empathetic outsider’s point of view, now I grapple with the notion daily. I wrestle with the idea of getting rid of my phone, because at this point, ignorance would truly be bliss.

But how can I?

This year I’ve been in crisis mode at the first photo I saw of cows dying of thirst in the same state where I live. I read an article where a farmer explained how horrifying it was that he had to go out an euthanize these poor animals as he could only supply for so many.

Then, because dehydrated cows weren’t bad enough, bushfires ravaged Australia and put a significant chunk of wildlife out of a home as well as taking care of livestock. Humans managed to mostly escape unscathed, buildings can be rebuilt but the lives lost cannot be recovered. It was here where I began wondering what meaning I would leave behind if I died tomorrow. I work as a retail manager and I found myself driving to work while firefighters drove toward the danger. For all the superheroes I read about, I drove to work feeling a deep well of shame. The country burning around me and I just continue driving as if nothing is going on. As if ash isn’t falling from the sky. As if smoke isn’t on the horizon.

Then, finally, it rained! Then it kept raining. Then roads got blocked off. Yeah, we got flooded. All we could do was laugh, otherwise, we’d cry. I mean, at least the fires were out, right? The State Emergency Service was out for days helping folks.

Deep breath.

Then, because End of the World 2020 has such a nice ring to it, the world shut down. COVID shut borders and even as I write this, it is still killing people. There’s no vaccine. No cure. This was the second time in four months where I found myself driving to work, while staring into the abyss, wondering what I was doing with my life. Doctors, nurses, and health professionals playing the role of hero while I sell people (who openly tell us they believe COVID to be a hoax on a regular basis) TVs, computers and games. Even writing this I shake my head. Not because I’m ashamed at what I do, but because of the absurdity of it all. As lock downs lift here in Australia, the risk grows of a second wave but we never closed during the first. Why would we close for a second one?

So far, we’ve passed through that relatively unscathed. Not too shabby. Wait, what? Recession? Didn’t we already have one of those a while back? As businesses go under, my company has luckily thrived. I’m grateful now that I still have a job that I can go to so I can pay my bills. Morally, I question the company’s decision, but overall they did what they needed to do so we still had a company to come back to.

#BlackLivesMatter. No, not that other hashtag, or the other one. This one. I have been keeping up with the news for the past four years. Four years of Donald Trump. Four years too many. I’m not living in the US (thank the gods, old and new) but MAN what the hell is going on?! Okay, I lie. I know what’s going on. A country, built on the back of slavery, has continued to oppress the people who helped build it. Sure, they have more rights than they did back in those days, but they are still being lynched (it sickens me even to type the word) and in so many cases unarmed African Americans are being executed by the police.

I used to wonder if their itchy trigger finger stemmed from the fact that there are more guns in America than there are people. Shoot first, or be shot; I do not envy the police. However, the latest video of a man (I say latest because this isn’t the first, but hopefully it’s the last) saying “I can’t breathe” has stuck with everyone. It’s sticking with me. I want to help that man in the video. Why doesn’t the police officer move? He’s making a conscious decision to remain on a man’s neck when the man is protesting that he can’t breathe. That’s murder.

While the US descends further into chaos, protests are held around the world. It’s the riots in the US that bothered me though. Why would protesters tear down their own towns and cities in protest. There’s only a few possibilities, mainly: they aren’t but someone certainly is or they’re that pissed that they will tear down the country they built to start anew. With America looking more and more like a dictatorship where the press are targeted by police and the military has been deployed against its own people, I feel war on the horizon. Don’t tell me what time the Doomsday Clock says, I don’t want to know.

This has been the third time in six months that I’ve been driving to work, contemplating what I’m doing with my life. It has been an especially difficult time as COVID shutting down the world resulted in many publishers putting acquiring new talent on hold for the foreseeable future. My dream of becoming a published author further from my grasp than ever and with all the mental fatigue that has come with the anxiety from the above events, it’s been so difficult to sit in front of the computer to write.

That aside, I’ve also never been closer to cannon-balling into politics. There are multiple windows open on my phone and computer that represent the various political parties, what they stand for and a membership page for one of them. After taking issue with the fact that I’d have to become a paid member, they politely replied to me that there were volunteer avenues I could also take, should I be interested. While I park that notion, I feel myself at the ultimate crossroads of my future.

I just turned thirty-five. I’ve written one complete novel, another to eighty percent, three full novellas and enjoy writing and creating immensely. On the other hand, in politics I could make a real difference. I could change people’s lives and change the community. What sort of politician would I be and could I be? I’d have to give up my Canadian citizenship if I was truly serious about running. I could give those people a voice that don’t have one now. But would politics, as divisive as it is today, be open to someone who is empathetic to the opposing party? I mean, if voted in, one doesn’t simply represent the percentage of people who voted them in, but they represent ALL of their people, regardless of race, political preference, age or attitude.

So, to my wife, I’m sorry. I’m tired because this is my head space for this year and while I agree, I need to do something, I just have no idea where to start. This post is an amalgamation of many journal entries this year and in the spirit of mental health, I ask those of you out there… Are you okay? I’m here if anyone needs to vent, or cry or just go for coffee. I don’t know what 2020 holds for the second half of the year, but all I know is we all need to start working together.

Oh, and I need to figure myself out.

I mean, if this is my midlife crisis, seventy is a pretty good age to go out on!

*Deep Breath*

Thanks for listening folks, wish me luck!

-TJ