Existential Gatorade

Do you ever get into a “holding pattern” of deep thought?  Like, just pondering things in your head, “big” things, things you will not find an answer to (because, frankly, there are no answers) but you still can’t shake the thought of them?

I do.

You probably could’ve guessed that, eh?  I mean, if I DIDN’T, then why would I have raised the question here, right?

Maybe I have been in the over-thinking cycle (and, let’s be honest, the sadness cycle) because of everything going on in the world.  I mean – WARS.  People dying.  An upcoming election that I honestly can see no good outcome in.  Poverty.  People with no housing, not enough food…  If I think about it too long, I can find myself in a vortex of darkness.

A few years ago, I met a man that I now admire from afar.  He is living with brain cancer, and I crossed paths with him at a brain cancer event shortly after my sister died of glioblastoma.  His name is Adam Hayden and he is a rock star.  He is well known in the brain cancer world – he’s not only a patient but an advocate – speaking out for more research, treatment options, etc.  He writes a blog that I follow (Glioblastology) and posts vlogs as well.  And almost every time he shares a story, it touches me deeply.  Sometimes it is like he can express the thoughts and ideas that are swirling in me that go unspoken. 

Today’s reading of his work led me to this truth bomb, a belief that I hold deeply but sometimes fear expressing: “Hope is hard to come by these days.  I mean generally.  Have you seen it out there?  The world, I mean.  Boy, it’s a shit show!  In the brain cancer world, we have hopeful stories, hopeful trials, hopeful clinical outcomes, hopeful research in the pipeline, but hope is an exercise, and sometimes you are too worn out to get in the reps.”

THAT.  Too worn out to get in the reps.  He couches it in the world he finds himself mired in, the brain cancer community, but the same sentiment obviously applies to so much these days.

Adam also quotes one of his favorite bands, Wolf Parade (who I had never heard of but of course immediately pulled up on YouTube) who sing, “I would say it is in God’s hands, but God doesn’t always have the best goddamn plans, does he?”.

Whether you are a believer in a divine being or not (which is most certainly a subject to ponder and discuss another day) – sometimes it is HARD to look at life and believe there are any blueprints, any plans.  Cuz if there were, well, then why would so much be so f-ed up??

And, as so often happens when I find myself obsessing over darkness and existential crises, the universe presented a tiny little nugget to remind me that there are glimmers of sunshine in the darkness.  I consider myself fortunate when I can take my dark sunglasses off enough to catch a glimpse of the glimmer.

One happened today. 

I slept around the clock (see 4^th paragraph – sadness cycle).  When I got up, I peeked out onto the front porch to see what was happening in the world.

And a kind human had delivered a case of Gatorade.

This would be an odd thing for most people to find when they stepped out onto their porch, but since we run a Little Free Pantry and supply people experiencing food scarcity in the community groceries, it is not unusual here. 

But the TIMING is what burst out a shimmer of hope to me.

You see, last night I gave away the 2^nd to the last bottle of Gatorade. 

A young man I had not met before pulled up on a rental bike just as I went out to see what was needed in the pantry for the final fill-up of the day.  I asked what he would like, and he said, “Pop-Tarts, ma’am”.  “OK, Pop-Tarts.  Anything else?” I asked.  “No ma’am, just Pop-Tarts please”.  I ran a few other possibilities by him – deodorant, shampoo…  All were no s, until I hit “ramen”.  That was a “yes, please”. 

So, I went down into the supply area and got a bag together for him.  Pop-Tarts.  Ramen.  I put in some beef jerky.  And then I saw the Gatorade…  Only 2 bottles left.  I thought about it a second, then put the yellow bottle in his bag and headed outside.

As I handed him the bag, I did a verbal check (not wanting to waste precious resources if these were not things he liked).  “I put in beef jerky – do you like that?”.  “Oh, yes”.  “And Gatorade, do you like Gatorade??”.  He smiled, the safety light on his backpack flashing into the dark night.  “Yes ma’am!  Thank you,” he said as he took the goods and prepared to ride away.

It's a small thing.  It definitely does not rise to the level of Covid or missing children or refugees or any other TRUE issue.

But my brain clocked it.

Only one Gatorade left. 

I felt a tiny blip of stress.

And look, I KNOW it is silly.  Rationally, I KNOW the number of Gatorades we have on hand to serve to strangers is by NO MEANS a crisis.  We have funds to replenish them.  We have plenty of other drinks we can share.  We have caring donors who would be happy to pitch in.

And yet.  My brain registered it.  And I subconsciously added it to the list of dark things I could ruminate on.

Then I slept.  And woke up.  And found the flat of brightly-colored Gatorade that had been dropped off by a caring neighbor.  A neighbor who, for the record, very sweetly asked me what we needed a week or so ago for the panty.  I had said Gatorade but had forgotten the interaction in the meantime.

Until it showed up.

The timing made me smile. 

Does refilling the Gatorade shelf solve any of the ACTUAL problems in the world?

Ummm, no.

 

The election is still a frightening mess.

There are still those who lack housing and food.

People in my immediate circle are going through very, very hard times.

But we have Gatorade.

That’s one looming dread I can cross off of my mental list.

And deleting that one can hopefully remind me that the others, though likely unsolvable, will be survivable. 

And that even though it is a shit show, I am here to experience it.  And for that, for today, I am grateful.