Today is a hot July 4th. I am not complaining; we moved to a lower altitude to escape the winter cold in environs closer to the sun. Still, even when the humidity is low, the afternoon of a rain-free July day can make most Arizonans feel like they might be on the evening’s dinner menu. I have spent my afternoon alternating between sitting outside, sheltered from direct sunlight by the alcove in front of our house, and lounging within, stretched atop the couch where I am a target for collaborative extension by our calico kitten. Her name is Petal and she knows that I used to be allergic to cats when I was a boy. I know she knows this because she seems magnetically attracted to me. On a day such as this one, when I am adjusting to the conditioned air of the house interior, I don’t have the energy to explain to our new family member that a distant version of myself used to experience eye itching and nasal congestion around her kind. So she dutifully settles first atop and then beside me, either dismissive of my medical history or supremely convinced that her own mix of protein and fur could never cause harm to another. Either way, I acquiesce to her confident affection.
Our world seems alit of late. If not actually from wild fires, which alternately rage and recede in the brush and the news, the pandemic and the all-too-public peddling of political pandemonium has everyone feeling overheated. The time doesn’t feel stable, safe, because, well, for the most part, the situation does not meet the criteria for such descriptors. And, even when we might individually manage to snag a snippet of respite from the smoldering upset that has taken hold of our land and psyche, the intemperance of a neighbor or fellow troubled traveler inserts itself, boldly and unapologetically, into that tiny bubble of solace. Just last night for example, while strolling comfortably atop the soft grass of a local golf course, sipping at the sensations of nightfall with my wife, daughter, and two friends, a steady shower of golfballs fell without warning from the sunless sky. It seems that some misguided but clearly intentioned soul had decided to leave the comfort of his porch and practice launching drives from a tee-box on the course some one hundred and fifty yards or so behind us. Although the lush grass nurtured by reclaimed water was capable of absorbing the return of each ball to earth without much fuss, we, not similarly designed or buffered, had to beat a hasty advance beyond the reach of this fellow’s aim. Which, I fear, was what he had in mind: we were walking where he fixed to give a golfball flight. It seemed little matter to him that one of his missives into the dusk could dent a human more than the earth. Part of me confesses that because we were wearing masks, out of respect for the pandemic and each other, he may have decided that we were fair game for his flailing free-for-all into the night. We left him, rather quickly, to his fuming, and we did so without fanfare. A man with a driver and a bad attitude is someone to be avoided.
A cursory review of the past could easily identify distinct periods of history when the human species has been gripped by existential fever and turmoil. Most often this state of frenzy has been self-induced. We are, almost as a matter of routine, susceptible to bouts of agitation for the sake of agitation itself. With regularity, we need an enemy, a cause, or a crisis, something to rail against, a pyrexia to which we might fall prey so that, by way of response, we can cool ourselves with some manufactured wind of change that sweeps, often at our own fanning, over the collective sweat on our brows. Perhaps because of boredom, or maybe just to generate some kind of attention, some acknowledgement that life and its hidden rulebook are frustratingly opaque and obtuse, we lash out, bubble over, erupt with a latent lava of misgiving that is, given our experience over the centuries, neither unexpected or unsurprising. The British tradition of afternoon tea typifies the physiologic yearn for catharsis, a small but palpable demonstration of the human need to ingest heat, deliberately and as a matter of routine, circulate it, and then let it release. Through doing so, our bodies, overheated to begin with, are duped by the evaporative cooling that accompanies the predictable yet satisfactory radiation, hence achieving a self-fabricated sense of comfort. Unfortunately, our species also acts, with regularity, as if it has an instinctive penchant for a similar social experience. We may study the phenomena of war and upheaval at school. We can read about it in books. But we still seem to need to intermittently launch ourselves at each other, through words, fists, or hurled objects. We remain prone to a regular fits of feistiness and fever.
This is not to say that all heat is created equal; there is unacceptable injustice in our land, unforgivable disparity, ugly structural inequity and inequality, and preventable trauma. Some sins in our history must not be neatly compartmentalized and ignored. Our collective tolerance for systemic bigotry and racial intolerance is a true disgrace, a shocking stain, egregious evidence of our communal moral failing to live up, with consistency and accountability, to our ideals, nay to our values, and admit, acknowledge, and subsequently address our historical and continuous missteps, transgressions, and shortcomings. The fount of this fever lies visible. Its treatment requires more than a polite social sweat. A proper defervescence is demanded, raw, honest and sustained, if “we the people” are to heal, to form a more “perfect union”, to secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity. Our path to true personal independence runs, naturally and as a matter of course, through the river of our mutual interdependence. My liberty relies on yours. Another’s suffering is and should be a veritable source of our individual discomfort – physical, existential, and spiritual. No one should live free from perspiration and disquiet while the fire of injustice burns among us.
And so, on the anniversary of our nation’s founding declaration, and during a time of great national discomfort and disillusionment, I pray that we learn to focus our latest ague on its sources, and target our anti-pyrexic measures with clear intent, historical honesty, and cool compassion. As a boy, I was drawn to this day, July 4th, much like my kitten Petal is to me: the notion that we are connected, are created equal, was and remains affirming, inspiring. It feels good to be part of something bigger than oneself, something intertwined. It is reassuring to believe that you and I are inextricably bound in something more than words, that your welfare – and its protection – is a reason for my actions, and vice versa. While I have not always aligned my daily decisions with such a higher aspiration, the heat of our current moment reminds me of what is possible. Common purpose, if we let it, can help us avoid both infection from novel virus and re-infection from destructive social virulence. We need each other. We need our planet. We need to embrace the true causes for this latest season of discontent.
A more “perfect union” remains possible. You and I are not simply citizens of a politically-organized nation with borders and boundaries. Yes, in the U.S., we are the lived embodiment of a pledge to our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor. But we are also each other’s keeper. Let’s set our thermostat to that higher regulation.