Worse
2026-03-28
It could always be worse.
I had a great day at the gym yesterday. My workouts have been getting easier on me. I'm not too sore at all today, and I've been lifting heavier with every workout. When I first started, I could barely lift much weight at all. I would hit the leg press and my legs would be shaking. I could feel the pain in my knees with every movement. But now I can lift heavier and don't feel the stress in my knees at all. It's crazy because it's only been a few weeks of this regimen and the progress has been so significant. I feel much more confident about the fitness journey ahead.
Even though I deal with some melancholic feelings and a general sense of disillusionment, I can say that my life is in a place that I never thought it could get back to. Granted, there are a lot of things that are difficult to contend with, and in spite of those difficulties, things finally feel like they're trending upward. There was this phrase I used to tell myself when I was depressed: you don't know how good it can be until you know how bad it gets. Even in the throes of complete and total mind and nervous system shutdown, I still wanted to find that light at the end of the tunnel. When I think back on those days, it feels strange to confront that ineffable impulse to live; through all of that, I still found a way to persist.
As I've grown in my faith, the object of my gratitude has increasingly been the Lord. I've come to understand that all the prayer and study of scripture wasn't to achieve any desired outcome, but to foster an internal change that I can carry with me regardless of my circumstances. While I'm thankful for this newfound resilience, I am anxious about what comes ahead now that I have this more robust set of spiritual armor. Things aren't going to be all sunshine and daffodils from here on out, but the troubles that lie ahead hide behind a cloud of unknowns. My yoke has been easy thus far, but there's a strange feeling I have that it's going to get much harder.
Even beyond cleansing myself of vices, there are a multitude of battles I feel I'll have to pursue. Many people who care about me don't share my faith, and from the lessons I've learned, I know that it would take far more than just my efforts to bring them to it. That isn't to say I'm predicting arguments about theology in the future, but there could come a time where the rubber meets the road circumstantially. The people I've been seeing at my parish have been wonderful, and I've had a great time getting to know them and connecting with them, but I fear that tension might form between my parish community and the one I've already ingratiated myself with. I can't say that with absolute confidence, but it's something I want to be on the lookout for, I suppose.
I was thinking about the events following the COVID pandemic on a personal and societal level. Personally, the pandemic was horrible for me. I got laid off from my job, and the disruption in general was hard to cope with. I went from working 14 hours a day to being isolated at home for months with nothing to do. It was such an abrupt transition, but one that I survived nonetheless. I remember back then, many people didn't believe it was such a severe event and thought we were being lied to by our government for reasons they couldn't explain. Levels of paranoia were at an all-time high, and we all felt there was no end in sight.
However, most of us got through it. This was the perspective I had: at the time when the virus was first spreading, it was found that there was a 1% death rate for those who contracted it. Since the virus spread so easily like a flu, the idea was that if we didn't quarantine and everyone in the world got infected, essentially 1% of the world's population would die. That's over 80 million people, a death toll potentially higher than the Spanish Flu and Black Death combined. So the panic and quarantine measures were completely justified, and looking back now a few years later, it actually seems like we did a great job. From a cursory lookup, I found that since the start of the pandemic, just short of 8 million people died of COVID. Given what we were dealing with, that's honestly a monumental performance.
Of course, life hasn't been the same since. Things feel like they're on some kind of weird autopilot that we can't stop, but we're still chugging along somehow. That gives me a lot of hope and optimism. People love to decry all the errors and follies of those in power or the systems in place, but even though they aren't perfect, they still basically work. There's a collective anxiety we all feel about the present and the future, and that's a warranted thing. Innovations in military technology and the global arms race we find ourselves in are a fearful prospect. The kayfabe that is the global economy feels more fragile with each passing year. Old people are dying, and young people aren't having kids. Whole cultures could be wiped out in my lifetime. Even though all of this anxiety looms around me, I feel a certain sense of optimism. It doesn't come from my own personal capabilities, but from the indomitable spirit we all share when we come together.
Some days it feels like the world really is going to end, but something tells me that just for today, we'll get through it somehow. Even when I feel completely and utterly alone, there's a certain endearment in seeing the world go by. When I go outside and see everyone living their lives, it gives me reassurance to know this thing we've got will keep going long after I'm gone. I used to feel like I was standing still and the world was passing me by, that I couldn't get out there and go with it. But now I know it'll never stop. Even on days when I'm tired and can't be arsed to go anywhere or do anything, life outside of me still persists. Instead of lamenting that, I really do see the beauty in it. The Day of Judgment won't come just yet.
It could always be worse.
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