We Must Pretend

Even when a big hurricane blows through, it’s hard to leave your house. We hadn’t really thought about that until today, but of course it’s true: if there were a big hurricane headed for our house, we would be reluctant to leave, too. We’re just like all those people on the news who are going to stay in Port Arthur or Galveston and ride the thing out despite the warnings and cajolings of frustrated governments and neighbors. (Governor Blanco of Louisiana today said, tersely, of people who refuse to evacuate: “Perhaps they should write their social security numbers on their arms with indelible ink.”)

Some people don’t evacuate because they simply can’t; they’ve got no way to get out, and nowhere to go, and no way to pay for a hotel or a rental car or a bus ticket.

But it is apparent to us from listening to people on the news that lots of people are just not that keen on vacating their houses, under any circumstances. We have just listened to an exasperated liquor store employee tell a newscaster that of course she can’t evacuate right now; she’s got work. And when she gets off work, she doesn’t want to sit in a car for hours on end in bumper-to-bumper traffic, thank you very much. She wants to go home, to her place, and kick back.

This woman is not rational.

We understand where she’s coming from completely.

Your house is supposed to be your refuge. You are supposed to be safe there like you are safe nowhere else. Usually, you can count on that safety.

But when a natural disaster comes along, the limit of that safety is exposed.

That’s too much for most of us to bear. It would take a lot of cajoling and news reporting and peer pressure to get us out of the house at the end of a work day, we can tell you that right now. It wouldn’t even be that easy on a weekend.

Why? Well, if you can’t count on your house and your job and your stuff in your house and your stuff at your job, what can you count on? That’s your life, man. That and your friends and family. That can get blown away by a hurricane? Man, don’t tell me that. Don’t remind me how weak and helpless and insignificant I am before the universe.

We’re all saying: “Just let me be, man. Let me huddle together with those I love and pretend that I’m safe. I know I’m not. But let me pretend a little.”

There’s no wisdom or truth in this pretense. But it’s part of who we are.