Mental Survival during COVID-19

From Brett:

We were in Calgary the day that our tour was cancelled. I had been following the virus for a month and a half at that point on Twitter (which I’ve since deleted from my phone). During the four weeks prior, one of my favourite things to ask peers was “are you scared of Coronavirus?” Usually people would laugh, sometimes they looked at me like I had two heads, others would ask me what I was talking about. Things got pretty dicey when for two weeks, I had obsessively watched the virus follow us from Los Angeles to Vancouver, to Red Deer and finally Calgary. It seemed as if major cases of mass infection were following us across the west coast. Finally, we had a talk with our manager in Calgary and decided that it would be irresponsible to continue the tour at the risk of infecting others. We also found out that day that a crew member had been struggling with a fever all morning. You could imagine what that might do to a person like myself, who is prone to paranoia and anxiety. Our tour manager was immediately informed, and asked to figure out protocol moving forward. We were told from a doctor that he had most likely been infected with Coronavirus, and those that had any symptoms (which at this point in the game was a fucking hodge-podge of every sickness known to man) were to stay put. Looking back on it I think I probably acted too drastically. I worried 18 people that day, slightly because I couldn’t stay off of twitter, slightly because I’m always scared of dying, and also because I felt extremely immoral about exposing people to the disease on the off chance that we were infected. Anyway, everyone “exposed” eventually tested negative for the virus, and I boarded a plane home. 

I would be lying if I told you the next few months weren’t some of the most refreshing and fulfilling I can recount. I drank whiskey with my friends, played video games, wrote songs, talked about music, started walking to the basketball courts, cooked dinner, relaxed in our backyard, talked about all things girls and boys, started working out, and played more video games and wrote more songs and drank more whiskey. Mainly, it felt good to know that I didn’t have an expiration date on the time with the people I loved. I didn’t mind being shut in a house if I truly didn’t have to leave. I didn’t mind just staying put for a while. You have seen our tour schedule in the last two years, now keep in mind we have recorded two times during that period and do the math yourself; simply, there was no time to settle. This break, however morbid and forced it may be, was the break I had been craving since I could remember.

Fast forward what seems like an eternity and what do you get? A touring Rock and Roll band unable to tour; a major deficit of financial means; too much time to think; worry for your loved ones, a second wave; a glimmer of a dream for exercise; and a little too much whisky. I am not sad, but I cannot say that I’m not worried. We have spent almost ten years building a business on what now seems to be a plan made for a different time, and didn’t the times change quickly. There was hardly a warning shot, it was more of a “and here we are, figure it out.” Take your own job in this case, whether you’re allowed to work or not, and place it up against ours. We were making money filling rooms with as many people as we could—that’s it. We will not be allowed to do that until the big black cloud is “officially” gone. And you know what—we’re lucky. I know so many people in so many bands that were just on the cusp of breaking (a point in which you have NO money to spare) that might have to wait years before they’re able to get back to doing what they love. In my opinion, that is downright plain old tragedy, and there’s not a single thing you can say or do for these people, because everyone is just trying to find a raft. 

That being said, I think I’m having an easier time dealing with these moments of instability than most others, and that is simply because I love my job, and my job is dependent on a certain comfortability with feeling alone. I will and I can, but I don’t make a habit of writing songs amongst a large crowd of people. Writing music is a way of entertaining ones-self and is dependent on an ability to entertain oneself, and I have no trouble doing that. I’ll let the dishes and laundry pile up; I’ll put my phone on silent mode; I’ll let my armpits get downright deathly; my hair dreads; my toe nails get long; my girlfriend calls me three or four times; my responsibilities within the band that don’t require words, or melody, or chords fall to the wayside— I get obsessive. But that’s not the point here, the point is this: I think everyone in the world has something that they are quietly good at, that they have either pursued or not, and it is the key to this time of loneliness and disconnection. Before COVID, we complained about not having enough time, now most of my friends do their work in two hours and play 6 hours of video games until it’s time to eat dinner. I know some of you have children that are home much more than before, and they will fill your time, but most of you now have that few hours in a day available that would have been filled by soccer practise, or dinner parties, or meetings, or whatever you want to point to that were ripe excuses for not being able to sit still or be alone. And I’m not trying to talk from a place of holy intentions or stand at some  all knowing podium on this— just yesterday I had a bit of an episode myself. I was in the bush about three kilometres, and I didn’t know whether I would be able to walk out because my nerves were so shattered. I swear to god, I’m worried, but everyday, I try to tell myself to use the fear, the change, the loneliness as proactively as I can. My god, do you want to lose weight? Go for a walk, you have an hour. Do you want to paint? Paint a picture, you have an hour. Do you want to start a podcast? Start a podcast, you have an hour. Do you want to call an old friend? Call them, you have an hour. There is no right way of combating this, but personal growth might be the only way to survive mentally at this point. There is no quantifiable way to compare past to present, but if most of you tell me you have less time— I will call you a liar. 

The simple truth is that most of us are using this time irresponsibly. We’re falling further into social media (developing apps for our band), we’re complaining constantly, we’re watching the news 12 hours a day, we’re disconnecting with ourselves in an attempt to artificially connect with others and we have about fifty excuses as to why life was better when it was worse, and this is definitely worse than it was for so many BUT— don’t forget, we used to complain about all the things we now have. So listen… be scared, be sad, miss your friends, shut yourself in, but for god sakes please remember that you have all had a fleeting moment of something that you want to pursue for yourself… it might be the only way to stay sane. REMEMBER, WE DON”T KNOW HOW LONG THIS LASTS.

HERE’S MY STUPID POST TODAY. I THOUGHT IT WAS A SONG, IT’S PROBABLY CLOSER TO A POEM. ALSO, THIS WEEK WE’RE GOING LIVE IN THE APP ON THURSDAY AT 7PM ET. IF YOU WANT, YOU CAN TALK ABOUT WHAT YOU MIGHT WANT TO PURSUE IN THE COMMENTS BELOW. I THINK IF WE’RE GOING TO CONNECT THIS WAY WE MIGHT AS WELL BE VULNERABLE AND SUPPORTIVE OF ONE ANOTHER.

CHEERS, 

THE BOYS.

Try not to Freak out

It’s on the wall above my bed.
Tattooed on my girlfriends head.
On the steering wheel of my car.
Etched into my fucking gut.
On the sign across the street.
The “Big Guy” wants to talk to me.
How much longer must I wait?
I’m worried that I showed up late.
Try, not to freak out.
Try, not to freak out.
I showed my wrists to Nostradamus,
he put up his hand and pled the fifth,
and said, “Try, not to freak out.”
I tell myself I’m a cosmic beam,
but I’m a glitch in the American Dream.
I didn’t come here to make new friends,
I came here to cancel my plans.
I go to bed wired and I wake up tired.
I chase my arrow as soon as it’s fired.
Stop smiling, I hate my face.
I hate that hell hath given you grace.
I hate that hell hath given you grace.
I try not to freak out.
I try not to freak out.
I showed my wrists to Nostradamus,
he put up his hands and plead the fifth,
and said, “Try, not to freak out.”