I sit here every morning drinking my coffee and scrolling through the latest newsfeed tidbits. I’m surprised at how undiscerning our society is right now. Thoughts on top of comments on top of photographs that don’t seem to be well-chosen. Harsh words that sting people and leave us wondering: what was the intention? Of all the things that could be put out into the world, why opt for the lowest common denominator?
The threat of losing Minion has given me a renewed sense of discernment in recent days. It nearly leads to paralysis as fear grips me and I debate which is worse: potential exposure or over-shielding my boys from the outside world. People already think it’s strange that we don’t send them to preschool. Analysis paralysis.
Even selecting my morning coffee seems to be a challenge lately. Verona, Blonde, House Blend. We’ve been working with Starbucks and my cupboards are BURSTING with options. I let my hands linger over the boxes and my ears seem to throb, my head pulsing with the sense of a heady aroma I can’t quite nail down.
There’s no over-analysis in the doctor’s office. The pediatrician tells me plainly that the baby’s lungs are likely damaged to some degree, and we need to be vigilant in keeping him healthy. “I’ve always respected your decisions,” he tells me, “But if you don’t vaccinate this baby fully, on time, you will probably find yourself in the same place all over again.” Likely. Probably. Maybe. These are words we toss out to our children. Not words that are ever supposed to apply to them. Mothers and fathers demand concrete answers. I should change insurance companies. It’s so expensive. Best to put that money towards college.
Health. Future. Home.
French press. K-cup. Chemex.
Decisions can make us feel bewildered or empowered. I’m inclined to say that both emotions can be equally dangerous.
We’ve had vaccine injury in the family. A second cousin got the flu shot and went into a coma. Encephalitis. A former editor for a nationally-recognized magazine, she now writes at the level of a seven-year-old. I balance that against our week spent in the hospital, and I feel like I might drown under the weight of it all. If there was anything, anything I could have done to prevent our baby’s pain…I can’t make myself a hypocrite. My family can’t go through that heartache again. These feel like true life-or-death decisions, I suppose, because in many cases they are.
My thumb hits the refresh button and my eyes scroll over the discussions that are reaching a national crescendo, alternately flippant and angry.
I pop a breakfast blend into the brewer and decidedly push the big silver button.
I’ve always been a dark roast kinda girl, a go-against the grain sort of rebel.
Perhaps, though, it’s time for a change.