Life is for Living

I stand in front of my pantry, staring at all of the non-perishable food items my boyfriend and I had stockpiled at the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic. Everyone remembers the uncertainty and the rising panic as the virus quickly became an emerging threat. I remember making late night trips to the grocery store, grabbing whatever I could. I remember driving past overcrowded parking lots, my anxiety spiking just thinking about how many people filled the aisles as necessities disappeared from the shelves. I remember ordering boxes and boxes of food from Amazon to avoid those crowded stores.

Two years later, we still have too much food. We overprepared for a complete lockdown that, thankfully, never came for us. Now, I feel guilty and selfish for hoarding so much food when I know we won't be able to eat it all before it expires, when I know there are so many others who don't have access to the food they desperately need to survive.

I gather as many items as I can and place them into a cardboard box. I count more than twenty cans of Campbell's soup, corn, carrots, green beans, peas, Dinty Moore beef stew, and sausage hash, a couple of boxes of pasta and jars of sauce, and several packages of Ramen noodles.

I think for a minute, then take a trip down to the basement and grab the almost-brand-new, bright green sleeping bag that has been collecting dust for four years. I carry the sleeping bag upstairs, wipe it off, and place it into the box alongside all of the food. Looking at the sleeping bag, I wonder who will be sleeping in it.

Will it be a mother with her baby snuggled against her chest, trying to find comfort after leaving the safety of their home?

Will it be an elderly man, all alone with nothing but the clothes on his back?

Will it be a man who sacrificed everything he had to build the business of his dreams, only to have it destroyed in an instant?

Will it be orphaned siblings clinging to each other, grasping for hope?

I think about the reality of these hypothetical people abandoning everything they own and I know that the sleeping bag will go to someone who needs a warm refuge at night, even if it is not the luxurious comfort of a bed. I know it will go to good use, rather than sitting forgotten in my basement. I close up the cardboard box, securing it with packing tape, and then label it with its contents.

The following morning, I load it into my car and realize I've packed close to forty pounds of items for donation. I drive to work and carry the heavy box into the lobby to the designated donation bin. Just a few days ago, the bin was empty. Today, it is overflowing with large cardboard boxes containing food, clothes, toiletries, and other items. The bin is so full that I have no choice but to leave my box on the floor. I stand there and think of all of the people who will benefit from the items contained within these boxes, of all of generous people who took the time to go through their own belongings. It is heartwarming to know that I work with such caring people and I am proud to be a part of a company that has such a strong commitment to helping humanity.

Everyday, I see more blue and yellow. Flags pop up in front of homes and businesses as I drive to and from work, as I travel out of state for a weekend trip. Blue and yellow wave in unison with red, white, and blue. Regardless of colors, freedom should be universal.

Support for Ukraine is everywhere. Even so, living in the United States, I feel like I am an entire world away from the tragedy occurring in Ukraine. The COVID-19 pandemic has been a shared, tangible threat throughout the world. Almost everyone has been impacted by the virus in some way. But, as U.S. citizens, we are so far removed from the reality of war in Ukraine that the devastation doesn't truly penetrate. The images of war and destruction are surreal and foreign. We see photographs and videos, but we cannot truly understand the fear. We only recognize it in the eyes of the people we see in those photographs and videos in the media. Parents holding hands with their frightened children, lugging whatever belongings they can manage. People carrying their pets, refusing to abandon them in the uncertainty of their fate.

No one should be forced to leave the safe haven of their own home. No one should have to flee for their life. I couldn't fathom leaving behind the safety of my home and everything that I have without ever knowing if I would return. To fear for my life every second of every day. Sleepless nights, anxiety ridden days. Living in fear is living in imprisonment. It is not a way to live. Life is meant to be lived freely, without worrying about having a safe place to sleep or a warm meal to eat. No one should have the power to take away another person's freedom to live, to impose such fear and uncertainty, to strip human beings of their basic need of safety and security.

Freedom is an easy thing to take for granted. Like many other things in life, it's hard to know the true value of what you have until it is threatened or taken away. Threats can take on many forms: gun violence, bombs, viruses, terrorism. For many Americans, a threat to freedom came on September 11, 2001 in the form of several hijacked planes.

Just as most people can tell you where they were at the beginning of the pandemic, many Americans can tell you where they were on that Tuesday morning in September. I was sitting at my desk in my fifth grade class when one of the teachers from down the hall came running into our classroom. My classmates and I exchanged confused glances as the teachers had hushed conversations with worried eyes. Our teachers told us not to worry, even as frantic parents started pulling their children out of school early.

I don't remember being given much information, other than something had happened in New York City. New York City was only an hour away. Since I grew up on Long Island, many of my classmates had relatives working in the city. I remember getting off of the school bus with my friend that afternoon, walking up the street to our houses, and seeing our mothers waiting at the bottom of my driveway. They didn't normally meet us outside. As ten year-olds we still didn't fully understand what was going on. I didn't fully grasp the terror of all of it until I saw the videos on the news and the photographs in the newspaper, and even then I was in shock.

How could a group of people have so much hatred for a country? How could someone choose to commit an act of terror that would take the lives of thousands of innocent people?

Thinking about everything humankind has been through over the past few decades, it becomes clear that we are our own worst enemies. We create our own monsters, our own tragedies, our own devastation. Why do we cultivate a world filled with such fear for our own lives?

Life is not meant to be filled with constant fear. Freedom to live is a basic human right, not one that we should have to fight for with our own lives. Life is not only meant for surviving, life is for living.