No Tepid Tea

A few weeks ago, I traveled across the country to a meeting of colleagues. Working in public health today feels dystopian; it is typical for funding to rise and fall with political agendas, but these are different days. Longtime programs, agencies employing international experts (who aren’t easily replaced), are being shuttered in the name of efficiency. Science is being ignored in the name of “but what if…” And the seeds of unnecessary ignorance are taking root. This is a garden of public health workers have been furiously weeding for decades. It feels like the kudzu vines have wrapped around our ankles.

It is as though we, as a specie, didn’t just emerge as the lucky ones from a global pandemic. While we could be investing in people, technology, and education to keep the next inevitable international wave of illness at bay, we seem to be kicking open the doors and putting out a welcome mat, taunting it to arrive. Virus, schmirus!

Surrounded by colleagues all slogging through the same funding and morale issues at our health departments scattered across the country, we were delighted and surprised to hear how our leaders on the national stage are making the best of the situation. One department after another came before us to share about their work, to artfully discuss how their new direction has limited their resources but they are now collaborating in new ways, and to express their gratitude for the continued work.

It was a good reminder that life is how you look at it. You can sit down and complain about all that you do not have, or you can take what you have, be grateful for it, and keep the show on the road. I came home from the trip with a new skip to my step, ready to return to work and the many puzzles on my desk.

Public health in so many ways feels like home. And when I come to my actual home after a day of work, I am tired in the best of ways, I feel like I truly gave it what I could. It’s like when I swam as a kid and your arms would be exhausted after a long practice, you would struggle to pull yourself out of the pool. But that feeling of shaking arms and tired breathing holds no weakness. Instead, you know you are already growing stronger.

I get home from work famished most days. I am so hungry and tired and while my arms aren’t shaking, my brain feels like it is. I want a warm meal, comfy pants, and silly television. I want to hope that the day’s work did something good, that we moved the rock up the hill – if only slightly.

I read this poem recently and it made me smile.

I Am Not Your Cup of Tea:

I am not your cup of tea

Because I am made too strong

And frankly, too hot

For you to enjoy

Maybe you can tolerate me

In tiny sips but I don’t want

To be tolerated. I want to be

Devoured by those who value

All I am and who do not wish

I was in any way watered down

To meet your tepid tastes.

--David Gate, A Rebellion of Care