I didn’t sleep last night. I didn’t hear any traffic. Not a single plane overhead. Just quiet, maybe as quiet as it might have been here in the teens or twenties… A hundred years ago.
A few days ago I started reading the 103 page paper on COVID-19 that got the States and the UK to finally start taking the threat and scope of the virus seriously. So the steps being taken here in California seem like a very good idea, even though they kept me awake. Still, if I look over the tragically botched responses by you-know-who and his administration it gets me agitated. I know you can’t obsess over things gone wrong in a crisis — you have to move forward — good people, good minds, good doctors, good scientists, good organizers are doing that the world over. You’re doing that right now.
I know that. But that doesn’t help me sleep. To calm down I walk. I talk to friends on the phone, via text, or standing 10 feet apart in our front yards. I read. I email. I write.
I’ve talked before about my friend William Kuhn, he’s an author, and these days he’s got some marvelous work up on Medium about his evolution as a writer. It has to do with the influence of Byron, childhood trauma, and a school year in London (1968-69) discovering the power of words.
Here’s Mr. Kuhn signing a book: