Day 68

Lately I’ve been watching videos about airplane crashes. They seem to fit the mood.

I’m fascinated by the decisions that ultimately save the day, and the kinds of thinking that end up losing the airplane. Too often, the thing that takes a problem from bad to worse is the human tendency to hold onto an idea even though all kinds of contrary evidence is trying to get your attention.

“That other pilot couldn’t really be starting his takeoff roll. We’re still on the runway.” That kind of thing.

Airplanes sometimes crash because the pilot confuses water for sky, and becomes convinced the plane is upside down. Or they crash because coming out of a turn feels like falling into a turn the other way.

Lots of planes have crashed while the pilot and first officer argued over whose instrument had failed and whose was right.

Dealing with a virus invites these kinds of problems all over the place. For example, we might feel wheezy, sore, and sniffly, but we can’t believe we’re actually sick until it’s way past obvious. Or, when we’re healthy, we feel like we should be able to do our normal things, because nothing looks out of the ordinary. The streets aren’t full of burned out cars turned on their roofs by looters. Everything looks great.

And it’s very easy to crash into a vertical infection rate, while the pilots argue over whose graph is right and whose is wrong.

The ideal response to a dire circumstance seems to be a flexibility of thinking—an ingrained tendency to question one’s own perception, combined with the strength of will to get a complex job done while everything’s falling apart around you.

Not to be a downer, but the cockpit door was open while I was waiting for the lavatory just now. For a few seconds I could see what was going on in there. Apropos of nothing, if you happened to pack a parachute, it wouldn’t be a bad time to slip that thing on. If you happened to pack two, I’d be much obliged.