Ready or Not…

This comfort is disquieting.

Despite a few twinges, remnants of a year of considerable physical challenges, I’m comfortable. I’m sitting in my sunlit living room in the midwest, the AC keeping me at a nice 75º, despite heatwaves and massive forest fires elsewhere. My home is in a safe neighborhood, where retirees roam freely and fearlessly. I’m soon to take a warm shower and then dress in good jeans and one of a number of blouses I like in my closet. Then I’ll get into my aging but perfectly running Prius and drive for a visit with Dan before heading to the grocery store to pick up a few things: a large bottle of acetaminophen, some lettuce, and a bag of hazelnut decaf. I’ll come home, make a substantial salad, with lots of fresh and canned vegetables, cheese, and olives for dinner. Dyke and I will eat our salads while watching an episode of one of the several shows we’re currently tracking. Afterwards, Dyke and I will catch up with anything we haven’t yet gotten to over the course of the day, he’ll go to bed, and I’ll relax with the New York Times crossword puzzle and several rounds of Wordscapes. I’ll check the evening’s headlines and maybe write awhile. When I’m adequately sleepy, I’ll get in bed and read a short story or two on my Kindle until I drift off.

Very nice day indeed.

Several times over the course of the day, like every other day, it will occur to me that this lovely status quo is unlikely to hold. The planet is getting warmer which, as time passes, is already causing havoc—it just hasn’t reached me yet. Various factions of my fellow citizens are getting increasingly restless and/or unruly (justifiably or not), and I expect that, as external conditions and domestic tensions become more extreme, extremity in both attitude and action will become more common and more disruptive. (Yes, I’m thinking violence.)

As Yeats wrote, “the centre cannot hold.” So far it has, but I feel the rough beast around the corner. Its breath was on Yeats’s neck, but it’s closer now. I can feel it. I’m guessing it will round that corner sooner than most of us expect. Once it noses into view, its swiftness and muscularity will astonish the world. But it won’t be too fast for the suffering to fully register, at length.

For now, though, I’m comfortable. I may outlive this cushy state of living; in fact, I more than half-expect to. If I do, when my quality of life degrades, I’ll be unnerved and unhappy about it—in fact, probably despairing and terrified. But not surprised.

For the moment, I’ll do what I can—try to limit my consumption and support organizations trying to prevent an utterly devastating future.

And I will appreciate my comfort as long as it lasts. Despite (or maybe even more so, because of) my disquiet.