The epidemic is real, and I’m not referring to the virus.Without a doubt these are unsettling times.
The epidemic is real, and I‘m not referring to the virus.
Without a doubt these are unsettling times. It feels like we‘re in a state of constant upheaval, and everyday life — going to the store, visiting with friends, dining in a restaurant, even spending time with family members — has been turned upside down. And our normal escape — racing — is for the most part on hold.
Our current crisis has revealed a number of things about Americans, circa 2020. We‘re busybodies, and we love telling others how they should live. We‘re experts, and we know far more than everyone else. Most of all, though, we‘re angry.
Anger is all around us. Turn on any of the TV and radio news shows and it‘s right there in our face, 24/7 and 365. We are perpetually outraged about something or other. We have a hair trigger and it takes almost nothing to elevate our blood pressure a couple of notches.
Which is ironic, because we‘ve got it awfully good here in America these days. We live in climate-controlled homes with a big-screen TV and internet service that brings more racing programming to us than we could ever imagine. Gasoline is cheap, food is reasonable, and with a few keystrokes you can have (almost) any item you desire on your doorstep within hours. We have (almost) infinite freedom of expression and movement and you can live anywhere you choose and drive whatever you want — or not.
It‘s true that a great many people in America are suffering. No doubt. But most of the angry people in my circle are not hungry, or poor, or sick, or oppressed. Lonely? Well, yes, there is a lot of that out there. But anger won‘t cure lonely; it just makes it worse.
It‘s almost as if we have lost sight of the tremendous standard of living we are privileged to enjoy today. A generation ago, people like my dad grew up in the depression. They were — in a literal way — poor to the point of despair. My dad, for example, went from being a hungry boy living in a ramshackle home to having a foreign enemy trying to kill him when he was just 17.
Was he angry? Not much. He and his peers went on with their life, working and struggling to pay the bills, spending most of their days in a pretty good mood. I only recall lots of laughter with his buddies, beer drinking and joke telling and almost no talk of politics or social issues.
My dad didn‘t watch the news shows; he watched Gunsmoke and Bonanza and Maverick. Maybe that‘s why he wasn‘t angry.
His generation probably had a right to be angry, because many of them had been kicked down the stairs. If anything, we Americans today have been kicked up the stairs. Most of us have a life so much better and easier that we couldn‘t possibly explain it to those who came before us.
Yet here we are, railing at the TV — and each other — at the injustice that threatens to overwhelm us. We spend almost no time savoring the good things, and too much time discussing and rehashing the bad things.
What does any of this have to do with racing?
Everything, really. After a lifetime of chasing this deal, I still believe auto racing is one of the greatest things ever conceived. It has surrounded me with good, hardworking people who would give me their shoes if I asked them. It has provided countless moments of excitement and entertainment and amusement. It has been the gateway to a vast number of friendships that I savor today.
But spend a few minutes talking with racing people today — in person, on-line, or on social media — and you‘ll find a bunch of angry folks. The anger epidemic has not spared this sport we love.
Maybe we should turn off the news shows. Maybe we should limit our time spent reading about troubling issues and challenges. Maybe we should look into a mirror and say, “What exactly am I mad about? And will being mad fix it, or make it go away?”
I‘m tired of being angry. It hasn‘t done me any good. I think I‘ll find a good race to watch, or maybe check in with a racing buddy who is also tired of being angry. That‘s usually the
right vaccine.