Plans

My father used to say, “‘If’ is the biggest word in the dictionary.” Another favorite was, “If the dog hadn’t stopped to shit, he would’ve caught the rabbit.”

Imagine if:

You had a wedding planned this spring

You had plans to travel this Spring.

You planned to coach your son’s little league team.

You had trained to run your first marathon this spring.

You’d spent four years in college, racking up student loan debt, toiling away at Mechanical Engineering or Physics or Elementary Education or Nursing or Psychology and you greedily wanted to attend your commencement ceremony.

You had tickets (really good seats) to see your favorite band perform in a huge venue this April.

Your kids had been making good progress with their swim lessons.

One of your side hustles, the hustle to put food in your mouth and pay the rent, was waitressing.

You put off going to the emergency room even though you have an emergency.

You were in that band and you’d spent the better part of two decades practicing like mad and gigging in shitholes to be able to play this huge venue.

You’d saved for years, by not eating out or buying any new clothes or clipping coupons religiously, to be able to take your kids to Disney.

You worked in retail.

You worked in event management.

You worked in hospitality.

Your employer covered your health care but had to lay you off.

You drove cab in the busiest city in the world and you knew that city like the back of your hand; you didn’t need a phone because the phone didn’t know where to cut through or how the traffic lights work or when people flooded from buildings or any of it. But your city went dead and no one went anywhere in your cab or other cabs.

You’d fulfilled a lifelong dream of opening your first restaurant this spring.

You were all set to present at your first big conference this spring; the room held one hundred and twenty-five people. 

You became a doctor because as a child you’d suffered from things you don’t really like to talk about. And even though you struggled mightily with organic chemistry in undergrad, you hit your stride in med school and never, not once, lost sight of your vision and worked harder than you knew you could. And you completed your residency and you were doing it, really doing it. You were a doctor. But they didn’t have enough masks to go around.

Your parents got it but there was nothing you could do. You couldn’t even go see them.

Your entire life now seemed a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

You had plans. Plans that didn’t involve hunkering down in April, like there is a hurricane barreling down on your house. Plans that didn’t involve your kids trying to read, write, and arithmetic through a laptop while you try to work from home washing your hands fifty times a day and getting ulcers every time your little one coughs. 

I guess we all had plans. 

If...