Calm After the Storm

pandemic sunrise

Last night, I wore earrings for the first time in just shy of a year. Our second Pfizer vaccine shot was 12 days ago, so we gingerly agreed to meet up with visiting friends. They, too, have had their second shots. 

We met at a local restaurant but sat outside. This outing in a public setting is the first for us in almost a year. 

It feels weird. 

I just figured out why the feeling is familiar. 

It's how I felt after we rode out a fierce storm on the Atlantic Ocean, with 60kt winds, more than 100 miles from shore, in a 41' sailboat.

Had Richard not insisted we tether ourselves to the aptly-named lifeline each evening before dark, we could have been caught off guard by the storm and washed overboard.

A truism of sailing, says Richard, is that the time to shorten sails (making it manageable in heavy wind) is when you first think about it. In other words, don't wait until things are out of control before you take action.

Sunrise after a storm is unlike any I've experienced before becoming a sailor. The relief it brings to glide atop flat-calm seas is kinda, sorta like I feel today. 

Embarking on that first off-shore adventure, I had a naive excitement coupled with a complete trust in Richard's over 40 years of sea-time. I didn't know if I'd get sick (I didn't) or what to expect when we couldn't see land. 

There's nothing quite like the sound of wind moving you through waves. Call it “air borne”.

Watching a video about sailing doesn't give the experience of rocking up and down on the water. Or the smell of saltwater. Or the feeling of overwhelm when you are out of the sight of land. Only after a day or two does it start to get monotonous, but then - bam - it's punctuated by terror. 

So I tie this feeling of relief into the contrasting anger of having to endure leadership nationally and at the state level. Putting on a damned mask in a pandemic is akin to putting on a “damned” life jacket at night when you're on a frigging ocean. 

At our nation's helm, the former president, aka that other guy, was first advised the global pandemic was heading our way over a year ago. He publicly dismissed it as a hoax. 

Imagine if he'd been captain of our boat and decided not to share with the crew that there was a big storm in our path. Even worse, what if he further went on to say there was no need to wear a life jacket or hook up to a lifeline. And still worse, as captain, what if he hadn't kept the vessel maintained, making the boat vulnerable under stress of heavy weather. 

The former president did all of that and worse. Our national death toll is more than the population of Des Moines, Cedar Rapids and Davenport combined. Over 5,000 Iowans have perished, more than the population of most Iowa county seat towns.

It's been a tough 12 months. 

The pandemic is terrible, made worse by a leader who somehow made science political, causing half the population not to take the most straightforward precautions…to wear a mask. AKA lifejacket.

Just riding in an elevator felt like playing Russian Roulette. Who knew if the people before us were asymptomatic carriers not wearing a mask?

We are so fortunate to have shots. Yet, it's maddening to have governors still not insist on mask-wearing. Or figure out an equitable system to distribute the vaccine. Our friends and families lives are at risk. 

Only a small percent of the population is capable of leadership.

It’s different than merely steering a course. A captain’s leadership responsibilities require:

• Physical safety of the crew

• Anticipating unforeseen circumstances.

• Maintain equipment

• Pay attention to weather

• Don't put crew in positions beyond their experience

• Know when to shorten sails

• Safety before schedule

• Communicate what's happening and what lies ahead. 

• Don't lie. Duh.  

I hope you all get the vaccine soon. 

Richard, captain of my heart, went to the grocery store today for the first time in almost a year. He's giddy in the kitchen at the moment.

I hope he shares sea-stories with you.

We're cruising these calm seas. And when we go out, we are still going to wear our damned masks. 

Other Substack columns by Gammack:

Onboarding

Impeachment Trial Reaction

Richard Gilbert Remembers Rush

Okoboji Writers’ Retreat