The Year of Living Dangerously

Exploring the unknown during a Pandemic

How many of you remember the movie, “The Year of Living Dangerously?” I’m guessing very few, if any. It was a 1982 Australian romantic drama. A story of young journalist Mel Gibson and a British Embassy officer, played by Sigourney Weaver. The story, based on the Christopher Koch novel takes place during the time leading up to an attempted coup in 1960’s Jakarta, Indonesia. This was a love story unfolding in the middle of a world in chaos. 38 years later in 2020, we would experience something few saw coming, a global pandemic. While some were able to find love and joy in the midst of chaos, nearly 2 million people (and counting) worldwide would never see 2021.

But at the end of 2019 all was still right with the world, at least in North America. After spending the holidays with my parents and children in Williamsburg, I returned to Texas ever so briefly before flying to Canada. I had an amazing time visiting Banff National Park, just west of Calgary. The bone chilling temperatures were for the record books (my personal records). The people though were kind, warm and engaging. Many names and faces would never be forgotten as I returned home to Texas, before eventually beginning 2020 work for ExxonMobil in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Later that month, I’d be off to the Bay Area surrounding San Francisco. The year was off to a great start.

Danger Ahead

The first sign this year would be one for the history books was Sunday, January 26th. I was asleep on the family room sofa, with a work flight scheduled for later in the day, when ESPN broke into regular programming. A helicopter crash, with Kobe Bryant and his oldest daughter aboard. Nine people in all gone in an instant. I sat stunned, fixated on the coverage. How does this happen? Why Kobe?

Still shaken hours later I would board my flight to New Orleans, thinking about Kobe’s wife and children. All the money they have would never soften the devastation of losing a husband, daughter and sister. Still life goes on.

 From a Facebook post, several years ago on this same day:

“Someone once told me that time was a predator that stalked us all our lives. I rather believe that time is a companion who goes with us on the journey and reminds us to cherish every moment, because it will never come again. What we leave behind is not as important as how we’ve lived.”   

Jean-Luc Picard, Star Trek “The Next Generation”

Beauty by the Bay

All was still well regarding travel

As a San Francisco 49ers fan, spending time roaming Northern California during Super Bowl weekend seemed like an amazing idea. I would be flying into San Jose Superbowl Friday, roaming the coast near Santa Cruz and then slightly north to catch the sunset at Shark Fin Cove near Davenport. First things first, arriving in San Jose. When I touched down in late January I was most surprised by the number of people wearing masks in the airport. I’d heard of Covid-19, but it was far away in Asia and not an American problem. These people were looking at me with sheer disgust. I was seriously checking to see if I’d forgotten to apply deodorant. I was good on that front, but what was up with the masks? This Texan had no idea and pushed forward to the rental car counter. Like with all cities, when I’m actually paying for the car (and not ExxonMobil), I’m renting the cheapest car in the zipcode. And of course, everyone else has the same idea so spending time in the rental car line has become the norm. So, in the time it takes for me to fly from Houston to New Orleans was the same time frame to pick up my car. And then I was off! First stop, the local camera store in Mountain View, CA as I left something on my nightstand at home. It just would not do to head to the Pacific Ocean not being completely prepared, right? Minus the occasional run in with certain people from my past, the previous 3 years had been pretty darned amazing. Pushing on I headed to the coast, listening to public radio and feeling a certain freedom of an explorer with purpose. Previous trips had taken me to Cuba, Belize, Guatemala, Honduras, the Mexican Yucatan, Oregon, Arizona, Utah, Nevada, Chicago, the DMV, multiple trips to Florida and points in between, My then 14 year old daughter drove her first vehicle on a crocodile lined road in northern Ambergris Caye and my son saw the Pacific Ocean for the first time, and also learning how serious rogue waves are. Yes, all of this crossed my mind driving through the Diablo Mountain passes, heading towards Santa Cruz. Traffic was my friend on this day. While busy, the roads were moving without delay. I reached out to an old college friend, who happened to be in Florida with her parents and I pushed on.

Driving to coastal Santa Cruz was like stepping back into old California. One of the first things you see is a huge amusement park (closed for the season, off in the distance). Skateboarding is big business here, and people with a better sense of balance than I were all over the place on 4 wheels leaning back and forth at medium speed. I drove around a bit, looking for Natural Bridges State Park. While lost, I often call my friend Stephen Davis. We talked about all things life, with him leading the conversation about coastal California. He’d been in the military years back and always spoke about the sheer beauty of the region. Finally, locating the park I got off the phone and wandered a bit. Finally comfortable with my Nikon Z6, I wanted to see how it would perform along the coast. It of course was only as good as it’s owner and we muddled through it. It was amazing that in town it was 68 degrees and less than a quarter mile away, it was 81 on the coast. And yea, it’s January 31st. A local college video crew were using Canon cameras for a project, and I watched them for a long time. Young genius, and little focus. In their eyes, I was the “old guy” on the beach and they were right! I wanted to be at Shark Fin Cove at sunset. Not knowing exactly how long the drive was, I packed my gear and left.

Getting my bearings, I was on the Pacific Coast Highway heading north. My GPS said 14 minutes. Still, I remember my GPS freezing up during a 20 minute drive in December when I was supposed to pick up Madison (and boyfriend) from a Christmas at the Zoo event at Rock Creek Park. I remember Maddie saying, “Daddy why are you sweating so much, it’s freezing out!” What happened that night is another story for another day. Still, you have to know where you’re going when you get Shark Fin Cove, or you’d drive right past this amazing landmark. It is difficult to put this magical place into words.

Shark Fin Cove

The drive back to the hotel in Mountain View was quiet and uneventful. The exciting drive through the mountains towards the coast earlier became a dark trek through curvy, unfamiliar roads. Deep down, I slowly grew tired of traveling alone. But waiting at home for life to happen isn’t part of my DNA. For a decade, the only constant in my life has been me. My career changed during that span, my children relocated with their mom to a different time zone, dangerous health challenges surfaced, and irregular companionship thinly cloaked as love. Yeah, those thoughts (and hunger) rushed through my head during that 80 minute drive. Later, I would find a Texas BBQ and Bourbon restaurant in Mountain View. All was right with the world. At least for this night.

 Yosemite National Park

Driving into Yosemite National Park was like driving back into world history. Here God clearly spent a few hours of the “6 days” creating this magical place. I drove/walked around this place for hours. The pictures speak for themselves, yet they still don’t capture the essence of actually standing here in peace. Traveling home, (after my 49ers lost the Superbowl) I was thinking 2020 was going to be an amazing year.

Remember when I mentioned the people in the San Jose airport wearing masks? That story would begin repeating itself. Signs of change, surely.

    Social Media Headlines

February 16th:  “First Coronavirus mask sighting at Hobby Airport.”

February 21st: “Meanwhile at Louis Armstrong Airport in New Orleans, the fight against the Coronavirus is real: Thousands of travelers, armed with king cake, strands of beads, and tall cocktails mixed with enough liquor to send anyone to a night in jail, an AA meeting or a plot of soil where you get to see roots, but no grass.”

March 6th: “In recent weeks, I’ve shared the things I see when passing through New Orleans. Beads, Tats, Brews, Bourbon and yes, hangovers had been the usual scene. Today though, a feeling of dread and uncertainty in the air. The TV monitors in most bars (usually on ESPN) were locked on the news channels hoping to hear some good news. So far nothing on that front. I counted 8 people in masks. I didn’t want to tell them the CVS, 50 for $2.99 variety would only protect them from nearby bad breath and not Coronavirus. I’ve often thought through the years that one dangerous earth threatening event may bring us all together. On the other hand I hoped it would have happened before my children were born. I suspect we will come through this on the other side, in far fewer numbers but hopefully humbled. As all of this races through my head, a high school classmate calls my name. He’d been on my flight to Houston, a few rows back to the left. I hadn’t seen Tom Sutlive from Lafayette High School in at least “2 Score” (you can look that up to see the number of years).  My feeling of despair lifted and a slight smile emerged. “Tomorrow the sun will rise. Who knows what the tide may bring.”

March 11th: “N.B.A. Suspends Season After Player Tests Positive for Coronavirus.”

Chesapeake Energy Arena, Oklahoma City

The Night Everything Changed

It was March 18th, and it all began to go sideways. I watched history unfold before my very eyes. 12 months ago, the people of Baton Rouge allowed me into their tight knit community while I worked on an ExxonMobil project. I was always the guy in the corner at Hayride Scandal, sipping on Kentucky based something and ginger, working and people watching, until they allowed me into their group. Good times surely. Life began to shift in recent weeks, as store shelves emptied, airplanes and hotels were sparse and the local eateries and bars had fewer patrons. The coronavirus, which had always seemed far away was extending its cloud of fear over Louisiana. The bottom was getting weaker, and with societal chaos closer than anytime in over 100 years. The governor broke the news early afternoon, ordering all but take out food establishments closed until mid-April. My newest friends would be out of work in a matter of hours.. Daniel, Brian, Allison, and so many others were going into the next 30 days with reduced or no income. As the clock approached midnight, people in various uniforms packed the neighborhood establishments, as they were already beginning at least 30 days of limbo. The toasts, shots, and loud bravado was hitting high gear now. For many, this moment will be an alcohol induced blur years from now. Behind these young, energetic faces the looks of an uncertain future. Then Tuesday morning at 12:01am, the unemployment rate in Baton Rouge leaped from 5% to nearly 23% as thousands of restaurants/bars shuttered their doors to help slow the spread of COVID-19. This is affecting everyone on some level.  All over America, we are trying to process this historic event, hitting all of us at once. Like everyone, we just want to wake up from this bad dream.  But, the dream will likely turn to nightmare before it’s over.

A few days later, the scene at New Orleans International Airport is like walking off an aircraft at 2am after a cross country red eye from Vegas. Except, it’s 1pm. The airport is quiet, deadly quiet. The restaurants are mostly shuttered, as businesses have zero customers. The few people here have a distant look in their eyes. The looks of fear from a week ago have been replaced with a resigned gaze. Judge Judy replaces ESPN, The History Channel now shows over CNN or Fox. It’s good to see people still traveling, however fewer in number. With the city basically shuttered (Who has gone through a drive in New Orleans?) this brand new terminal looks like a good idea, but the timing appears way wrong, at least today. Oh, the airport bars are apparently allowed to be open. But the bartender has an almost “you better not have covid” look in her eyes. Oh yeah, the most important part: two of my Southwest Flights today were cancelled. Hopefully, my 3:10 flight is still a go. Little did I know, I would never return to Baton Rouge for work.

Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport

Sunday March 22nd, my Baton Rouge ExxonMobil manager Will Arnold, called. “Hey Bud, the Governor just shut down Louisiana. I hope you haven’t driven to the airport yet.” A lucrative oil and gas career would end thanks to an invisible killer taking lives, ruining livelihoods and leaving devastation everywhere it descended.

Documenting the Journey

March 25th: One day, in the not so distant future, people will speak about this time in history. They will talk about the early fear that consumed the American and world culture, the hoarding of supplies, the fears of isolation, a crashing stock market and the unknown of tomorrow.  They will also talk about that group who thought this was never real, that this was another version of the flu and it too would pass. Who will be ultimately right is unclear, at least not now.  Today in suburban Houston, moments after a “stay at home” order was issued, the look of fear was so real you could touch it. Something that looked like a rainy day Netflix film was happening in real time. Years ago, when I half paid attention, my Grandfather, Major Jordan talked about the 1918 Pandemic following World War I, the stock market crash and the long soup lines. Take that, and add a racial component and you’re talking about dire times. He spoke of the humbling experience and the lessons learned. I listened, but never really understood. But today, while waiting at the local grocery store for a prescription to be filled, I watched people in masks grabbing what food items they could find before a new curfew set in for midnight. Me? My freezer is full, with enough charcoal in the garage to grill daily until June. My fear is for my children, several states and a thousand miles away. My only daily message, “make sure you look after your mom.”

It seems like a year ago when we were talking about Kobe Bryant and that Sunday morning he, his daughter and those on that helicopter instantly ceased to exist on a California hillside. On that day, we thought 2020 needed a do-over, not knowing what would unfold globally weeks down the road. Millions want answers, want to blame someone, or just want to wake up hoping this unfolding nightmare was never real. As each day passes, we now know someone who has been lost or knows someone who is currently suffering. And every time we feel a sniffle, we wonder if it’s our turn. For a moment tonight, I had that thought.

The biggest battle will be behind our eyes, staying focused on right now instead of tomorrow.  Face each problem as they come and we will hopefully all come through this on the other side, with a touch of wisdom in our pocket. Worry and fear, they are the real killers.

April 1st: From the covid mental frontlines:

The days and nights begin to blend now. As we try to adjust to this new normal, many of us (me included), feel isolated and alone, cut off from the world that was once so close. Getting a tire replaced, clothes cleaned, or day at the gym now seems like events from a history lesson. The enemy we face is invisible, lurking on a kitchen surface, a passing friend or a random sneeze in a grocery store. Talking with a dear co-worker and friend earlier, I needed a voice on the phone to speak about positive things, how to better ourselves, how we can grow once this global crisis becomes a part of history. I got off the telephone feeling refreshed, at least for a moment. During a later bike ride, I saw the smiling faces of the neighbors I never knew before. They too are facing the same things as I, maybe worse, or better. I’ll never know. Still though, I ride. Along the way I lost my love of photography. Perhaps, it will come back, one day.

Looking up details of what happened more than a century ago in 1918, I stress that all do the right things to protect those you love, and the strangers you touch along the way. It was 16 years ago today, my grandmother was called home. Granny was a little girl during that pandemic. What would she think of these times?

As for this “Accidental Tourist, “I live in 12 hour shifts, making sure I stay in the now. Faith has always been a friend.”

April 3rd: And then it was Friday. The windows are now open as a heavy rain drenches southeast Texas. Thunder, lightning and lots of water are settling in for the weekend. Listening closely, you can almost hear the individual droplets hitting man made objects. Earlier, this had been a “day of days.” It was a lovely morning to ride in my Katy, Texas community, 80 degrees, no wind and dense clouds made my 10 mile journey almost calming. My legs would beg to differ, if they had a voice. I saw the usual group of neighbors I’d never known before covid. Some were walking or bike riding, others doing driveway art with their children. At the same time, I passed several lawn service crews out making yards look like the nearby golf course. If you had no memory of the past month, this would be a chamber of commerce kind of day. I had a few calls before and after my outing. Friends and family doing the daily check in. So far this “new normal” day wasn’t too bad. And then the email of a conference call at 3. There, my company announced drastic staff cuts. People with hopes, dreams and the ability to pay their bills… gone. That was a zoom call for the record books. Lots of emotion and plenty of tears. The memories one never forgets happened over the course of an hour. The virus, economy and the oil war between Russia and Saudi are the blame.  If you are an Avengers fan, it was like Thanos snapping his fingers during the “Infinity War” battle scene. The call ends, and what do you do now? Me? Do something with my hands. So I went outside and cleaned the grill. Anything to keep my mind off the news fresh in my head. Meanwhile, millions of people around the world are trying to figure out today, much less tomorrow. As for me, I talked, but mostly listened to dear friends who called. One call in particular.

During that communication another bomb drops, news from a dear friend now in the ER. She’s not too far removed from a liver transplant, and a million complications that go along with that. Because of covid, she’s in a hospital bed right now (with no family allowed) pondering everything important to her. A reminder: In these times, when you think you’re having a bad day, it’s likely worse (not better) just down the street.

Meanwhile back in the kitchen, boneless chicken in the air fryer, veggies and a bourbon (neat) just to round off the edges a bit. Sean Connery is my distraction for the evening. Old Bond films are usually the cure for many things.  For me: “You only Live Twice.”  And the rain, the opening act is complete and it’s now quiet out, except for the bugs outside drawn to the interior light. Tomorrow though, another story yet to unfold.

April 9th: From the front lines in suburbia:

I was playing Pat Metheny’s newest album, “From this Place” Wednesday afternoon on a drive through the Texas countryside near Sealy, an hour west of Houston. Located as a simple point on a map, I found a community called “Cat Spring,” a 4-way flashing intersection with a 50’s era tavern with two gas pumps (closed) on one corner marking the spot. Random driving will often lead you to amazing places, especially when tragic events force you on the road to peace..

Hours before, my best friend from college shared news most could not handle. He could, mainly because of his character and a strong faith based foundation that many don’t possess. In the midst of this cataclysmic event now unfolding, great people and stories emerge. He offered me wisdom while dealing with his own realities. Covid is hurting his family without even directly touching them. What “it” can do is now equally as dangerous. The tale of my friend and his family is still a story unfinished, and out of respect, they remain anonymous.  The young should pay attention (Glenn Jr. & Maddie), as these are the tales your grandchildren will speak of decades from now, long after “Daddy” is dust. As for the current me, I chose escape on this day, as my 4 walls of home had totally closed in on me. I drove along a dusty gravel road, strewn with small potholes as it slowly opened up to several small homes on the left, stables straight ahead and the “main house” to the right. Parking my car on a patch of grass, I wandered among horses, dozens of them, taking photos as they ran free on this huge and sprawling ranch. These gentle giants walked right up to me, looking for snacks, no doubt. They would find no food but a new friend. For a moment, covid was on another planet, long ago and far, far away. But, only for a moment.

In the background and back at home, the rain and thunderstorms have returned, almost like trying to rinse away the pain of the day but, with no luck. Like all storms, this will also end. But at what cost.

Avis Thomas

April 12th: Avis Blake Thomas passed at home after a long battle with leukemia. Husband Al and Daughter Ashley by her side. Avis’ story of family, faith, love and service is a path we all should be following, during good and bad times. My best friend, Dwayne called me with the news. His strength, inspiring. His words, encouraging. He is the youngest of our “band of brothers” but always the wisest. Through the years, Avis had always reminded me of a different version of my sister Dorenda. I winced at the thought of losing her as Ren is my rock.

April 19th: In past posts, I’ve referenced the storms and the soothing sound of the rain behind me as I crafted notes of uncertainty and hope. This morning, let’s just say I wanted to hide under the bed instead of watching the storms drift past. For about 2 hours, my phone lit up with Thunderstorm and Tornado warnings. God was sending a regional reminder of “who’s boss.” Let’s be clear the “boss” wasn’t in my house but over it.

I’ve been home for roughly one month. 4 weeks ago today, my ExxonMobil manager in Baton Rouge called and said “hey, you may want to cancel that flight this afternoon. The Governor just issued a stay at home order for the state.”

Fast forward 30 days, COVID19 has claimed people I know, sickened the entire family of one co-worker and forced others to adjust to a world unfamiliar to our culture. An environment unseen in over 100 years.

And me, as a single man, being isolated is no joke. In the beginning it was tough. Not interacting with people, “anyone” is brand new and quite frankly something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. Well, most of my enemies, .  Like a person walking in a dark room after a day outside, my eyes (and life) adjusted. And while I still don’t love it, this no longer feels like “the endgame.”

What I don’t do is spend my day watching the news. There are certain people in the industry I follow, like Sonia Azad, Tom Abrahams, Marc Robert Smith and of course my brother Stephen Davis. Sprinkle in a few moments of NPR and CNBC, and that’s it. A far cry from my former career.

I reach out to my children, parents and friends daily. I laugh with Stephen about TV, parenting, photography, my good friend Nina about work, life, covid and the recent snow totals in the Colorado mountains, and Dorenda about keeping grounded and focused on my roots.

On this Sunday morning, online church, a bit of reading and later laughing at ESPN’s “Peyton’s Places,” a marathon all afternoon. As I’m in Texas I usually take a Sunday drive, not getting out of the car of course. This is a weekly reminder that the real world is not 100 miles away. Pulling back in the garage, is like lacing up your bootstraps to do battle with the unknown, 12 hours at a time. That is, until next weekend.

Willie Dixon

April 25th: When the phone rings late at night, you never know whether the news will be good or bad. On this night, horrific. I would learn from my friend John Carreon that former KTRK co-worker Willie Dixon had died. The official cause of death, unknown. But as a person who deals with blood clots, the details of Willies’ last hours are familiar from my research. I would be awake the rest of the night, thinking of all the people “I should have stayed in touch with.” Several days later during his funeral, I virtually gathered with former co-workers to watch his funeral online, while sharing stories about our friend Willie, gone too soon.

May 11: It’s been a while since I’ve put new pictures out there. Photography and travel are my passion and covid stole it from me, while stealing life, hope and dreams from an entire planet. In late March, few knew days would become weeks and then months. Always with the glass half full perspective, my friend Stephen would call urging me to take free Nikon classes to help re-ignite my interest. He’s the smart little brother I never had. I finally followed his advice and soon took a plethora of late night online tutorials to fine tune my skills. After getting trained on new photography techniques, the camera bag remained on the floor near the front door. Ready to go, but without a host.

About a week or so ago I started going out to watch sunsets. There, I’d get lost in my own fears, challenges and goals while God put the day to bed. It’s been a rough stretch, with people I know going to heaven too soon. Unfortunately, it seems to be a weekly thing. At some point though we all max out on stress & anxiety. So earlier this evening, I grabbed my Nikon Z6 and captured a few moments as the golden hour surrendered to night. For a day at least, my love of photography returned.

If Covid Wasn’t Enough

May 31st: If you follow my adventures, I’m usually talking about my children or travel. That’s it. The past week has been historical and deeply unnerving. I was never under the illusion race relations were getting better, despite amazing moments in African-American achievement. Working on assignment in the “DEEP” south the past 18 months was a daily reminder of how far our culture still has to go. Today my community, the black community, is sad and angry. Another black male, George Floyd dies in police custody. This time, protests and riots roll across the country like a category 5 hurricane at high tide.

On this day I’m not going to step into political commentary as few feel like reading a post for the next 3 hours. I write because a former co-worker described the current national mood as “terrorism” and should be treated as such. Was he right? Most would say no. But some who I call friends “may” be quietly saying “yes.” One thing about the 1950’s-60’s, you could usually figure out who they were because somehow those guys weren’t at work during the Klan rallies, or they smelled like burnt kerosine the next day. Now, regardless of color or culture, we have little idea who the “other” guys are until we reach critical mass. Then, our emotions kick in and we’re all in trouble.

Despite how we feel politically, a calming and unifying force is needed to bring people to the table. And if you don’t like what the person in power is doing or saying, use your vote to make a real difference. Protest? Yes of course! Martin Luther King preached that action to change societal paths. Burn, loot, riot? Those actions likely fuel those to use their voting power to maintain the status quo in November. And keep this in mind, every time a window is broken, a police car burns, or someone damages property, guess who has to pay for it? Look in the mirror, yup that would be you.

Let me be clear, I am a huge supporter of the police. They daily face things many of us could never comprehend. We rest safely in our homes at night because of them. One of my childhood friends, William Riley is a local police chief now, making a positive difference in his community. The bulk of these agencies do great things daily, still some individual officers leave a stain that at times outweigh the men and women in uniform doing good.

Still..

I had plans to go to the coast Saturday and take sunset photos, just to clear my mind. While driving, I thought better of it and went home. Not the America I’m particularly proud of right now. Be careful out there, the world is watching.

When Faith Stepped In

June 20th, Father’s Day weekend, I decided to drive to the small town of Snook, Texas (population 541) to take sunset photos in a sunflower field. Getting away from Houston to unpopulated places in Texas was now a thing. After driving west and hour, then turning north, I found the vast sunflower fields to take photos. Interesting thing about sunflowers, they turn their backs to the sun, showing the floral beauty in the opposite direction. And yes, the fear of snakes in this field were real.

Posting a picture on social media (instagram), one of the people who liked the photo had an interesting motto. It changed my life. He quoted the book of Psalm from the Bible. Chapter 46:10: “Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.” Upon reading that, I realized (again) the GOD I believe in has me covered. And while the journey may not be the smooth path we all hope for, keeping my eyes on HIM is another reminder that HE’s got me! I don’t preach that feeling to others, it’s a path I follow. While still concerned about my journey,  I’m no longer trapped in fear like the feelings of recent months.

Changing Times

In the days that would become weeks, I began shifting into health and fitness. Often, I would ride my bike 15 miles a day, with the temperature hovering around 95 degrees. Sitting and fretting just would not do. Forcing my body to burn off the stress was key. Roughly around that same time, I began doing PR work for a west coast virtual agency. Good, talented and unselfish people on that team. It’s been an unexpected gift.

July 24, the day my 16 year old daughter decided we were going to have movie night while 1,441 miles apart (Texas/Maryland).. She picked “Point Blank” on Netflix. Just Awesome, as we texted reactions through the entire film! My daughter Madison, incredible on so many levels. 6 months later, and we have not missed one movie night.

Still though, that invisible killer lurks. By July 1st, 2.6 million Americans have been infected by Covid, over 120 thousand dead. These disturbing numbers will nearly triple by year’s end.

Lost in Translation

One mid-August afternoon, it slowly began to make sense. This is the year that will forever be one that was lost in translation. Watching Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson try to make sense of life, love (a midlife crisis) and Tokyo, it became clear that our world is trying to translate 2020. It started with such promise and hope. But western society had plummeted due to the pandemic, then political and social upheaval. On a personal level, I’d actually seen “her” in San Antonio, late in 2019. It was my “Lost in Translation” moment. We had a late dinner, attended a holiday party, wandered the Hill Country. She is compassionate, intelligent, fiery, beautiful. There was renewed hope that my solo travel would end, and “we” would plot new journeys. 2020 was supposed to be “the year,” finally!  Reality check: It’s tough when you realize the hard way “she” wasn’t for “me.” But still refreshing to know Dwayne & Viv, Stephen & Courtny and my parents are not exceptions to the rule. It actually does exist without having to compromise, and finally I’d seen my version of it.  Still though, I wondered why God connected us in the first place. Of all the years, I could have used “her” strength during this stretch. Those days and nights when you never heard the sound of another human, unless the television was on. When silence was so loud it screamed at you. 2020 has by far been the worst year ever to walk this earth alone. But probably, it was my finest hour.

Political Season

I am not sure when covid became political, but it did. This section will be short as I’ve debated my views with others who believe in something else. In the end, several friends are no longer, along with someone I loved dearly. The election happened and the majority selected new leadership (with a Howard University Alum as VP).

Weeks later, it would be Thanksgiving. Due to covid, I would not see my family in Virginia. Instead, a four day weekend at home to cook, eat, and reflect. Thinking back 12 months, so much had changed. I wondered when we would return to normal. Better yet, what would be normal when this is all over?

Winners and Losers

Over 330-thousand people (and counting) will not be going home to their families ever again in the U.S, and 2 million worldwide due to covid. Blame who you want, but some countries figured it out early during this pandemic. Except one, they too were democracies. There were some people I had to leave behind, while one has emerged. The reasons are not relevant to this tale.  One good thing did happen, I communicate daily with my kids, Stephen, Nina, Dorenda, Mom and numerous others. Most importantly though, I’ve learned to listen more.

During months of silence and solitude, I could often hear the voices of my elders. Those moments when I could see Grandma Jones with an ash laden cigarette seemingly defying gravity while she ran a Saturday beauty salon, with Big Daddy calling out her nickname “Shug” as he watched the Dodgers on TV. Or, Granny riding herd over 4 grandchildren and a niece while catching 60+ fish, along the York River (that was the old version of daycare). Papa Jones (my great grandfather), quietly sitting on the porch watching his legacy play nearby in the vast open fields around his home. Daddy Major, the only man other than my Dad who I ever called my hero. He was, like my dad is “legendary.” And who could forget Nanny (my great grandmother), and her 900 pound cat named “snowball.” 50 years later, and I’m still afraid of cats. Those moments will never be forgotten. As I write this, I’m preparing to observe Christmas alone, as it is far too dangerous for me to be near my aging parents, or my kids whose mom courageously donated a kidney to her husband. I will honor my late brother-in-law Keith Godwin with a dish he taught me to prepare on the smoker, decades ago while living in Orlando. Still, I harken back to another time when we kids all ate Christmas breakfast in Granny’s kitchen (1960’s-70’s), while the adults were in the dining room. Daddy Major, giving a 18 minute blessing (where he seemingly quoted entire books of the Bible) while cousins Keith and Kevin tried tickling me so I’d laugh out loud and get in trouble. The best of times, surely.

It’s odd that in the midst of my despair so many months ago, I most remember the sound of late evening storms. Coming full circle, the roaring storms of an approaching cold front have returned to Katy tonight. Back then, I was isolated and alone. Now resolve, strength and faith are my beacons. Still, thankful for the journey. I did manage to see my children once this year and I am so very thankful for that.  The current rumble of thunder and lightning flashes seem odd for this time of year. But as I’ve always said, “all storms end.” God willing, I will see you in 2021.

Glenn, “The Accidental Tourist.”

Afterthoughts

Writing the book “Five Years of an Accidental Tourist” is now in its’ 3rd year. Hopefully, back to adventures of meeting people and exploring cultures around the world in 2021 and beyond. This was a tough year to write, as the journey was more about exploring my mind than distant destinations.

ps- Don’t forget to tell someone you love them, it might make their day. My love travels across the country to my parents, my kids Glenn Jr. & Maddie, Ren & Ronnie, nephews, cousins on both coasts, Sonia Azad, the Blakes, the Davis family, Nina, Tabb, and sprinkled friends all over the United States. Thank you for allowing me to be family, and a friend.