I’m Not Crazy: An Open Letter to My InstaCart Shopper

The world is not a safe place right now.

This belief is validated by the news, Facebook, Reddit, and every other outlet possible.

As we navigate the global pandemic of COVID-19, a natural state of shock and panic is starting to set in.

I started early.

In January, I cancelled an upcoming checkup for my three-year-old son. We have notoriously troublesome health insurance, meaning that the closest office that will see us is the local county health clinic. Last summer, we made the trek there for vaccines and an overall wellness screening, and he ended up picking up a nasty bug that we all fought for weeks.

I was not thrilled about the idea of a follow-up in the height of flu season, but as I tracked this new virus from Wuhan, China to the US, I began to panic. We live in a tourist town in California, celebrated for it’s international institute and multicultural offerings. We host a highly attended golf tournament that just so happened to fall on the same week as my son’s appointment.

I debated with myself about this for a couple weeks, but something wasn’t sitting right with me, so I made the call to cancel and we stayed home.

And For Everything Else, There’s…

I turned off the news for a while. It’s not so hard to do when you’re naturally introverted and isolated. My husband, son, and I are self-sufficient most of the time, and for everything else, there’s Amazon and InstaCart.

In January, we purchased the largest first aid kit we could find. Just in case.

In February, we opted to stay home more often than usual, purchasing all of our groceries and essentials online.

And yesterday, I made a really, ridiculously large order via InstaCart.

I know, I know…I’m one of those people. Let me explain.

Like most millennials, my family has lived paycheck to paycheck or slightly better for the past decade and a half. The last couple of years were filled with ups and downs that depleted our pantry. There was no concept of stocking up for an emergency when every other week was an emergency. And as I mentioned before, our healthcare was substandard, so we went without most of the time, only ensuring that our son was well cared for.

Things have been better over the past twelve months. We’ve been able to afford the essentials, and then a little bit more. So when it was time to restock our groceries, I added a couple hundred dollars’ worth of pantry staples (and yes, this included toilet paper — we were out!).

I didn’t go crazy…we bought the things that a couple with a toddler would need for an extended trip — lots of granola bars, nuts, peanut butter, etc. Despite my justified practicality of this purchase, I still felt very judged.

Self-Sufficiency, Except…

We’re not in contact with anyone most days; however, the people we do see are my in-laws — social butterflies who attend church, travel around the country and state, and don’t take the idea of quarantine very seriously at all. Holidays are a struggle, having to ask repeatedly whether one of them was sick before deciding to take our son over or not. We’ve already experienced a hospital stay in the early days with my son, and it was traumatic for all of us.

I’m overly cautious, bordering on paranoid. I know.

One of the great benefits of living on the West Coast and working virtually is that I get to support people all over the world. At least half of my clients are holistic healthcare providers halfway across the country. In the last couple of days, I’ve watched things go from business as usual to chaos. The fear is palpable and I’m working overtime to make sure that my clients are supported and able to care for their patients.

But here in our little sunny, beachy patch of California, there is no sense of urgency beyond empty toilet paper shelves. People are bragging about their courage, laughing off this very-real threat. Maybe it’s the general financial security of most of those around me, but there’s a confidence stemming from ignorance that feels entirely American.

Looking at the examples all over the world right now, money and social status don’t equal protection, at least not for long.

Against Our Wishes

So far, no one here has tested positive for COVID-19, but there’s no way of knowing how many people have actually been tested for anything. Seeing the panic on the other side of the country, it feels like we’re sitting ducks here, and no one takes me seriously.

Two days ago, our neighboring town was informed that they would house up to 24 passengers from an infected cruise ship. Despite an outcry from the community, the passengers have been moved in to a local beach-adjacent property for quarantine. The only information we’ve received is that this particular strip is state-owned, so the local government has no choice but to comply.

This brings up so many fears for me and those in my local community; though the general anxiety for them is a halt to the tourism industry here. This town is comprised of an older and elderly population! Yes, the local economy is important, but the safety of our people takes precedence.

I’m not saying that I necessarily want to turn people away, but some time for preparation would have been preferable. Again, this reeks of Capitalism — we mustn’t incite a panic and halt the flow of money, the safety of our country be damned.

Take Shelter

Since the birth of my son, I’ve been afraid. They say that a child is a piece of your heart living outside of your body, and I agree. The moment he was born, the realization hit me that I can no longer fully care for him — that he would always be vulnerable to the world around him. Luckily, he’s resilient and has had a healthier childhood than most.

Thankfully, COVID-19 is affecting small children midly, else my panic would be insurmountable.

I’m reminded of the film Take Shelter, in which Michael Shannon plays a paranoid and nightmare-ridden husband and father. He is thought to be delusional throughout the whole film, and his family tries to cope with his faltering grasp on reality. At the end, the storm he had envisioned finally appears on the horizon.

I don’t want this validation.

I’m not saying full-out panic and preparation is the way to go. But it’s not out of the realm of plausibility anymore. Gathering supplies is an action, it’s something we can do to halt the heart-stuttering fear that most of us are facing. Limiting contact and explaining the necessity of self-quarantine is essential!

I look at my box of supplies and can breathe a little more deeply knowing that we’re provided for, even if just for a little while. We’re safe. We’re okay. We’re going to make it through this.

I’m not crazy, I promise. I’m just a little frightened, and doing what I can to responsibly prepare.