vox--2020-12-24--The Highlight’s best reads of the year

The Highlight’s best reads of the year

Share All sharing options for : The Highlight ’ s best reads of the year The Highlight was young , not even a year old , when the coronavirus pandemic descended in the spring .
If we had been padding along unsteadily , looking for footing like any ambitious toddler , our balance was entirely shaken by the seismic developments of 2020 : the lockdowns and masks , the bizarrely mysterious and gravely dangerous virus , a summer of protests and the retaliatory federal response we felt in the rattling of our windows , a democracy and an election so @ @ @ @ @ @ @ impending coup .
All these months later , looking over the body of work that writers from Vox and across the country produced for The Highlight amid the year ’ s fear and uncertainty , one thing is quite clear to me .
The pandemic spawned an American existential crisis , a productivity slump , a small-business cataclysm .
It provided the kindling for an incendiary — and at times strikingly effective — reckoning with American racism .
But as difficult as 2020 was , each collective experience further distilled The Highlight ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ telling , new questions worth asking , and new narrative escapes worth exploring .
Some of the best pandemic coverage that The Highlight published already feels encased in amber , relics of a time when the nation stood at the precipice of catastrophe — and nonetheless fell victim to its citizens ’ instinct to preserve personal liberty above all .
Other stories , like that of trans pastor Junia Joplin ( who was fired after coming out ) or the chronicles of young people of color ’ s first experiences with police , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Below , find some of the best work The Highlight published this year .
Because of the pandemic , and not despite it , 2020 ’ s most engrossing tales have a distinct richness .
They ’ re full of mystery , faith , ambition , truth-telling , and self-understanding — precisely why they resonated with readers .
I hope you enjoy them , too .
A mysterious outbreak .
Hundreds of stricken schoolgirls .
Was it an illness , or was something darker to blame ?
A trans Christian minister came out @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s bracing for what comes next .
The church has not embraced those like Junia Joplin easily .
She only wants to keep her job .
She wanted to ride with men in one of the world ’ s most dangerous sports .
She had a lot more than her competition to be worried about .
Inside FIRE , the implausible millennial movement to save , invest , and quit the American workplace “ Financial Independence Retire Early , ” with its emphasis on extreme frugality , grew in popularity after the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ movement prepare its followers for the next one ?
A likely culprit in Covid-19 surges : People hell-bent on ignoring social distancing orders Turbulent reopenings and partisan mask wars highlighted the nation ’ s preoccupation with personal liberty above all .
“ They didn ’ t see me as innocent ” Can you remember your first experience with the police ?
For these nine Black and brown people , the encounters would shape their sense of safety forever .
The end of the American dream Small businesses were once pillars of communities , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ fighting for survival .
Then came the pandemic .
Is this the end of productivity ?
Amid the pandemic , workers whose jobs once defined their lives are questioning what it was all for .
Life in between : Nonbinary adults , in portrait Five people on finding the words — and the strength — to be themselves .
He was arrested for marijuana 17 years ago .
Now it ’ s legal .
So why is he still guilty of a crime ?
As the drug hits a cultural tipping point , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , or erase , minor pot convictions — a move even the Biden-Harris campaign supported .
This is one man ’ s quest to clear his name .
“ Wan na hear something super bitchy ?
” is a kind of love language .
The financial case for defunding the police It ’ s time to ask why we continue to spend millions of taxpayer dollars on police misconduct lawsuits and billions more on policing that yields poor outcomes .
The long and public reckoning that followed the Holocaust shows a path forward @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to confront its racist past .
Lavanya Ramanathan is the editor of The Highlight .

Share All sharing options for: The Highlight’s best reads of the year
The Highlight was young, not even a year old, when the coronavirus pandemic descended in the spring. If we had been padding along unsteadily, looking for footing like any ambitious toddler, our balance was entirely shaken by the seismic developments of 2020: the lockdowns and masks, the bizarrely mysterious and gravely dangerous virus, a summer of protests and the retaliatory federal response we felt in the rattling of our windows, a democracy and an election so fragile that some sounded alarms of an impending coup.
All these months later, looking over the body of work that writers from Vox and across the country produced for The Highlight amid the year’s fear and uncertainty, one thing is quite clear to me. The pandemic spawned an American existential crisis, a productivity slump, a small-business cataclysm. It provided the kindling for an incendiary — and at times strikingly effective — reckoning with American racism. But as difficult as 2020 was, each collective experience further distilled The Highlight’s mission, revealing new stories worth telling, new questions worth asking, and new narrative escapes worth exploring.
Some of the best pandemic coverage that The Highlight published already feels encased in amber, relics of a time when the nation stood at the precipice of catastrophe — and nonetheless fell victim to its citizens’ instinct to preserve personal liberty above all. Other stories, like that of trans pastor Junia Joplin (who was fired after coming out) or the chronicles of young people of color’s first experiences with police, will echo for years to come.
Below, find some of the best work The Highlight published this year. Because of the pandemic, and not despite it, 2020’s most engrossing tales have a distinct richness. They’re full of mystery, faith, ambition, truth-telling, and self-understanding — precisely why they resonated with readers. I hope you enjoy them, too.
A mysterious outbreak. Hundreds of stricken schoolgirls. Was it an illness, or was something darker to blame?
By Daniel Hernandez
The church has not embraced those like Junia Joplin easily. She only wants to keep her job.
By Emily VanDerWerff
She wanted to ride with men in one of the world’s most dangerous sports. She had a lot more than her competition to be worried about.
By Steven Leckart
“Financial Independence Retire Early,” with its emphasis on extreme frugality, grew in popularity after the last financial crisis. But can the movement prepare its followers for the next one?
By Stephie Grob Plante
Turbulent reopenings and partisan mask wars highlighted the nation’s preoccupation with personal liberty above all.
By Eleanor Cummins
Can you remember your first experience with the police? For these nine Black and brown people, the encounters would shape their sense of safety forever.
By Kiana Moore
Small businesses were once pillars of communities, but economic and systemic forces left many fighting for survival. Then came the pandemic.
By Laura Entis
Amid the pandemic, workers whose jobs once defined their lives are questioning what it was all for.
By Sam Blum
Five people on finding the words — and the strength — to be themselves.
Interviews and photography by Annie Tritt
As the drug hits a cultural tipping point, states face an urgent call to expunge, or erase, minor pot convictions — a move even the Biden-Harris campaign supported. This is one man’s quest to clear his name.
By John Washington
“Wanna hear something super bitchy?” is a kind of love language.
By Alanna Okun and Aude White
It’s time to ask why we continue to spend millions of taxpayer dollars on police misconduct lawsuits and billions more on policing that yields poor outcomes.
By Sean Collins
The long and public reckoning that followed the Holocaust shows a path forward for a United States that desperately needs to confront its racist past.
By Mattie Kahn
Lavanya Ramanathan is the editor of The Highlight.


vox--2020-12-24--Hospital ICUs are filling up. It’s even worse than it sounds.

As of mid-December , hospitals on average had just 22 percent of their intensive care unit ( ICU ) beds available across the country , and many were completely full .
As the Covid-19 surge continues to intensify , lack of ICU beds can have dire consequences , including not being able to properly care for the sickest patients , potentially rationing lifesaving care .
But even these bed capacity numbers don ’ t tell the whole story .
Adding extra critical-care beds in other departments or buildings takes precious time , resources , and space .
But adding trained @ @ @ @ @ @ @ deep into a pandemic .
When trained staff are in short supply , it ’ s even harder for hospitals to best meet the needs of critical-care patients .
These patients include people very sick with Covid-19 , but also many who need to be in the ICU for other reasons , such as those who have had a heart attack or stroke , are recovering from major surgery , or are sick with the flu , among others .
Only about a dozen states had more than 30 percent ICU capacity left @ @ @ @ @ @ @ numbers have only accelerated since then .
And the reality on the ground in many areas is much worse , as reporting by the New York Times has shown .
From the Times ’ s data , gathered from the US Department of Health and Human Services , of about 100 hospitals in the Los Angeles area , more than 65 reported ICU occupancy at 90 percent or higher .
Cedars-Sinai Medical Center had an occupancy at 112 percent of its capacity .
In Dallas , the fourth-largest metropolitan area in the country @ @ @ @ @ @ @ than 20 Covid-19 patients , 80 percent of them had zero or just one ICU bed left .
The most open beds any hospital had was five .
In the Minneapolis-St. Paul area , half of the hospitals with more than 20 Covid-19 patients were at more than 95 percent ICU bed capacity .
In Oklahoma , which has the third-highest per capita new case rate in the country , of the hospitals with more than 20 Covid-19 cases , the majority were at more than 90 percent ICU bed occupancy .
Nancy @ @ @ @ @ @ @ at Integris health system in Oklahoma City , which reported full ICU occupancy in the most recent data to the HHS , says they have turned regular patient rooms into ICU rooms to try to handle the rush of severely ill people .
Even so , she said , “ occasionally Covid-19 patients must remain in the emergency department for several hours waiting for a bed to become available.
” And there is little sign of relief in many places around the country , with an average of more than 200,000 new Covid-19 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ Patients keep coming , and we have to take care of them regardless of our staffing levels , ” Gisella Thomas , a respiratory therapist at Desert Regional Medical Center in Palm Springs , California , wrote to Vox in an email .
“ I worry that there is only so long staff can hold up before breaking , which ultimately , in itself , could limit capacity ” further .
The sickest Covid-19 patients can linger in the ICU for weeks — or longer .
And although we have learned a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ better treat severely ill Covid-19 patients , the disease itself is still challenging to address , and we don ’ t have a cure for it .
Which means the 2 percent of people who get Covid-19 and end up needing critical care are often in ICUs until either they are able to recover — which often includes invasive intubation treatment — or die .
One of the reasons ICUs have been filling up is that once a patient with Covid-19 gets that sick , they are not likely to stabilize very quickly @ @ @ @ @ @ @ average ICU stay for a Covid-19 patient was about a week — almost double the typical stay of 3.8 days for other ICU patients .
Other anecdotal reports show that many patients can be in the ICU for weeks or even months .
And pinning down this number is crucial for projecting how many beds might be available in the future if cases continue to climb .
As an October study pointed out , if an average length of stay in the ICU is 10 days , that means that every day there @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a new bed opening up .
So when admissions exceed that rate , ICUs are likely to get overwhelmed .
This is something those working with critically ill coronavirus patients have to contend with every day .
“ Covid-19 patients unfortunately stay in the ICU for a long time , ” Nagle said .
“ The course of the disease is very slow , and this contributes to the shortage of available beds.
” And while Covid patients are there , meeting their needs can be extremely labor-intensive .
“ Covid-19 patients can @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to watch and adjust , multiple medications to give , and lab results to draw and results to watch , ” Nagle said .
And although we now have a better understanding of possible treatments for seriously ill patients , “ patients still respond in varying ways , and their progress and possible outcome is always unpredictable.
” This is another reason hospitals don ’ t always have a good projection for how many ICU beds they might have in the coming weeks or days .
Caring for Covid-19 patients also requires many @ @ @ @ @ @ @ staff work with other patients , further jamming units .
All staff entering an ICU Covid-19 room must don full gowns and PPE each time , which is resource-intensive .
“ This also creates real difficulties if someone crashes because it slows down our response , ” Thomas said .
“ The need to more thoroughly clean all equipment also creates delays and makes normal staffing levels inadequate for the pandemic.
” In the meantime , doctors , nurses , and other health care workers are struggling to provide the best care they @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and more patients .
“ Critically ill patients are very complex , ” said Orlando Garner , a pulmonary critical-care physician at Baylor College of Medicine .
“ There are a lot of moving parts at the same time that require the same amount of priority.
” But , he said , “ when you are stretched out beyond capacity , you can ’ t deliver the same quality care unless you create more skilled health care workers , and as we have found out , these are a scarce resource.
” Staff @ @ @ @ @ @ @ hospitals can often somewhat expand the number of beds and amount of supplies , staff are in much shorter supply .
“ The most precious resource in any hospital are the human beings who are knowledgable and capable of caring for patients , ” Sarah Delgado , an acute care nurse practitioner and clinical practice specialist with the American Association of Critical-Care Nurses , wrote to Vox in an email .
“ It is the limiting factor.
” Without enough of these people to care for all of those who are very sick @ @ @ @ @ @ @ suffer , ” she said .
And it is not just ICU physicians and nurses who are in short supply .
“ Critical care is more of a team sport , ” Garner said .
“ This means physician-delivered care and interventions , but also careful medication selection dosage with pharmacists , skilled nursing care , respiratory therapists , midlevel providers , nutritionists , early mobilization with physical therapists.
” To that list , Nagle also adds all of the other hospital staff needed to perform other essential tasks in ICUs , including @ @ @ @ @ @ @ other functions .
To accommodate surges of very ill Covid-19 patients , many hospitals have had to rework their staffing structure .
At Christiana Hospital in Delaware , critical-care nurse Lauren Esposito and her colleagues typically work with critical cardiac patients .
But this year , her unit has served as overflow for critical Covid-19 cases .
“ At first it was a little uneasy , ” she wrote for the American Association of Critical-Care Nurses .
Their hospital implemented a tiered staffing strategy in which cardiac nurses would work under trained ICU @ @ @ @ @ @ @ if a patient was crashing , we were able to flex and have the ICU nurse go to that patient to provide care , ” she wrote .
They were also able to provide quick training to nursing staff , for example , on working with intubated patients .
Still , the overflow duties were straining , and they weren ’ t made easier given the intensive isolation these patients are in to stop the spread of infection .
“ I remember the first time I walked into a patient ’ s room @ @ @ @ @ @ @ are the primary caregiver and no one else can come in.
” Also , staff now often have to attend to more patients at a time .
In California , where last week an average of more than 44,600 people each day tested positive for the coronavirus , Gov .
Gavin Newsom dropped the state ’ s nurse-to-patient ratio from 1:2 to 1:3 in an effort to meet the surging numbers of Covid-19 hospitalizations .
In Oklahoma , Nagle notes that although the ICU nurses she works with usually take care of one @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ with the shortage of critical-care nurses , each nurse may have three , and under very extreme conditions , even four patients to care for.
” This increase in patients each nurse is seeing — especially in a complex illness like Covid-19 — is a major adjustment .
“ Nurses are at the patient ’ s side every hour of every day , administering lifesaving medications , collaborating with other health care team members , translating information to families , and providing end-of-life presence when those families can not visit due to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
“ This work can not be done when the number of patients exceeds staffing capacity.
” And staff themselves often fall ill with the virus .
According to a November report , as many as a quarter of Covid-19 infections in some states are among health care workers .
“ It could have been me ” Garner , whose whole family got sick with Covid-19 earlier this year , including his 4-month-old daughter , says getting the illness himself gave him a new perspective on the patients now flooding into local Texas @ @ @ @ @ @ @ me , my wife , or one of my kids on that ICU bed , ” he said .
“ It ’ s easy to rationalize the amount of sick patients by thinking , ‘ oh , well they weren ’ t distancing , ’ or , ‘ they weren ’ t wearing masks , ’ but the fact is that nobody deserves to catch this virus and get sick from it , not even the people who doubt it .
As the spike continues to grow , compassion is the only thing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and burned out.
” The flip side of that is remembering compassion for the health care workers caring for these patients , especially as the holidays approach .
Not only will many of these workers continue long shifts through the holidays , they will do so knowing that many people are disregarding public health warnings to avoid gatherings .
“ We need the public to do its part , ” Delgado said .
“ Stop nonessential travel , adhere strictly to mask-wearing and social distancing guidelines , and limit gatherings with those outside @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Katherine Harmon Courage is a freelance science journalist and author of Cultured and and Octopus !
Find her on Twitter at @ KHCourage .

As of mid-December, hospitals on average had just 22 percent of their intensive care unit (ICU) beds available across the country, and many were completely full. As the Covid-19 surge continues to intensify, lack of ICU beds can have dire consequences, including not being able to properly care for the sickest patients, potentially rationing lifesaving care.
But even these bed capacity numbers don’t tell the whole story.
Adding extra critical-care beds in other departments or buildings takes precious time, resources, and space. But adding trained staff is much more difficult, especially deep into a pandemic.
When trained staff are in short supply, it’s even harder for hospitals to best meet the needs of critical-care patients. These patients include people very sick with Covid-19, but also many who need to be in the ICU for other reasons, such as those who have had a heart attack or stroke, are recovering from major surgery, or are sick with the flu, among others.
Only about a dozen states had more than 30 percent ICU capacity left on December 15, and coronavirus case numbers have only accelerated since then. And the reality on the ground in many areas is much worse, as reporting by the New York Times has shown.
From the Times’s data, gathered from the US Department of Health and Human Services, of about 100 hospitals in the Los Angeles area, more than 65 reported ICU occupancy at 90 percent or higher. Cedars-Sinai Medical Center had an occupancy at 112 percent of its capacity.
In Dallas, the fourth-largest metropolitan area in the country, of the 47 hospitals with more than 20 Covid-19 patients, 80 percent of them had zero or just one ICU bed left. The most open beds any hospital had was five.
In the Minneapolis-St. Paul area, half of the hospitals with more than 20 Covid-19 patients were at more than 95 percent ICU bed capacity.
In Oklahoma, which has the third-highest per capita new case rate in the country, of the hospitals with more than 20 Covid-19 cases, the majority were at more than 90 percent ICU bed occupancy.
Nancy Nagle, a pulmonologist and critical-care physician at Integris health system in Oklahoma City, which reported full ICU occupancy in the most recent data to the HHS, says they have turned regular patient rooms into ICU rooms to try to handle the rush of severely ill people. Even so, she said, “occasionally Covid-19 patients must remain in the emergency department for several hours waiting for a bed to become available.”
And there is little sign of relief in many places around the country, with an average of more than 200,000 new Covid-19 cases reported daily since early December.
“Patients keep coming, and we have to take care of them regardless of our staffing levels,” Gisella Thomas, a respiratory therapist at Desert Regional Medical Center in Palm Springs, California, wrote to Vox in an email. “I worry that there is only so long staff can hold up before breaking, which ultimately, in itself, could limit capacity” further.
Covid-19 can be a long, unpredictable, complicated illness
The sickest Covid-19 patients can linger in the ICU for weeks — or longer. And although we have learned a lot since the spring about how to better treat severely ill Covid-19 patients, the disease itself is still challenging to address, and we don’t have a cure for it. Which means the 2 percent of people who get Covid-19 and end up needing critical care are often in ICUs until either they are able to recover — which often includes invasive intubation treatment — or die.
One of the reasons ICUs have been filling up is that once a patient with Covid-19 gets that sick, they are not likely to stabilize very quickly. A September study found that an average ICU stay for a Covid-19 patient was about a week — almost double the typical stay of 3.8 days for other ICU patients. Other anecdotal reports show that many patients can be in the ICU for weeks or even months. And pinning down this number is crucial for projecting how many beds might be available in the future if cases continue to climb.
As an October study pointed out, if an average length of stay in the ICU is 10 days, that means that every day there is only a 10 percent chance of a new bed opening up. So when admissions exceed that rate, ICUs are likely to get overwhelmed.
This is something those working with critically ill coronavirus patients have to contend with every day. “Covid-19 patients unfortunately stay in the ICU for a long time,” Nagle said. “The course of the disease is very slow, and this contributes to the shortage of available beds.”
And while Covid patients are there, meeting their needs can be extremely labor-intensive. “Covid-19 patients can be incredibly ill, with multiple machines to watch and adjust, multiple medications to give, and lab results to draw and results to watch,” Nagle said. And although we now have a better understanding of possible treatments for seriously ill patients, “patients still respond in varying ways, and their progress and possible outcome is always unpredictable.” This is another reason hospitals don’t always have a good projection for how many ICU beds they might have in the coming weeks or days.
Caring for Covid-19 patients also requires many more steps and precautions than when ICU staff work with other patients, further jamming units. All staff entering an ICU Covid-19 room must don full gowns and PPE each time, which is resource-intensive. “This also creates real difficulties if someone crashes because it slows down our response,” Thomas said. “The need to more thoroughly clean all equipment also creates delays and makes normal staffing levels inadequate for the pandemic.”
In the meantime, doctors, nurses, and other health care workers are struggling to provide the best care they can while being asked to handle more and more patients. “Critically ill patients are very complex,” said Orlando Garner, a pulmonary critical-care physician at Baylor College of Medicine. “There are a lot of moving parts at the same time that require the same amount of priority.” But, he said, “when you are stretched out beyond capacity, you can’t deliver the same quality care unless you create more skilled health care workers, and as we have found out, these are a scarce resource.”
Staff are even scarcer than ICU beds
Although hospitals can often somewhat expand the number of beds and amount of supplies, staff are in much shorter supply. “The most precious resource in any hospital are the human beings who are knowledgable and capable of caring for patients,” Sarah Delgado, an acute care nurse practitioner and clinical practice specialist with the American Association of Critical-Care Nurses, wrote to Vox in an email. “It is the limiting factor.” Without enough of these people to care for all of those who are very sick, “patient outcomes are likely to suffer,” she said.
And it is not just ICU physicians and nurses who are in short supply. “Critical care is more of a team sport,” Garner said. “This means physician-delivered care and interventions, but also careful medication selection dosage with pharmacists, skilled nursing care, respiratory therapists, midlevel providers, nutritionists, early mobilization with physical therapists.” To that list, Nagle also adds all of the other hospital staff needed to perform other essential tasks in ICUs, including bathing patients, changing linens, and other functions.
To accommodate surges of very ill Covid-19 patients, many hospitals have had to rework their staffing structure. At Christiana Hospital in Delaware, critical-care nurse Lauren Esposito and her colleagues typically work with critical cardiac patients. But this year, her unit has served as overflow for critical Covid-19 cases. “At first it was a little uneasy,” she wrote for the American Association of Critical-Care Nurses.
Their hospital implemented a tiered staffing strategy in which cardiac nurses would work under trained ICU nurses. “During the shift, if a patient was crashing, we were able to flex and have the ICU nurse go to that patient to provide care,” she wrote. They were also able to provide quick training to nursing staff, for example, on working with intubated patients. Still, the overflow duties were straining, and they weren’t made easier given the intensive isolation these patients are in to stop the spread of infection. “I remember the first time I walked into a patient’s room, it really hits you that you are the primary caregiver and no one else can come in.”
Also, staff now often have to attend to more patients at a time. In California, where last week an average of more than 44,600 people each day tested positive for the coronavirus, Gov. Gavin Newsom dropped the state’s nurse-to-patient ratio from 1:2 to 1:3 in an effort to meet the surging numbers of Covid-19 hospitalizations.
In Oklahoma, Nagle notes that although the ICU nurses she works with usually take care of one to two patients during a shift, “with the shortage of critical-care nurses, each nurse may have three, and under very extreme conditions, even four patients to care for.”
This increase in patients each nurse is seeing — especially in a complex illness like Covid-19 — is a major adjustment. “Nurses are at the patient’s side every hour of every day, administering lifesaving medications, collaborating with other health care team members, translating information to families, and providing end-of-life presence when those families cannot visit due to strict isolation requirements,” Delgado said. “This work cannot be done when the number of patients exceeds staffing capacity.”
And staff themselves often fall ill with the virus. According to a November report, as many as a quarter of Covid-19 infections in some states are among health care workers.
“It could have been me”
Garner, whose whole family got sick with Covid-19 earlier this year, including his 4-month-old daughter, says getting the illness himself gave him a new perspective on the patients now flooding into local Texas ICUs.
“It could have been me, my wife, or one of my kids on that ICU bed,” he said. “It’s easy to rationalize the amount of sick patients by thinking, ‘oh, well they weren’t distancing,’ or, ‘they weren’t wearing masks,’ but the fact is that nobody deserves to catch this virus and get sick from it, not even the people who doubt it. As the spike continues to grow, compassion is the only thing that can keep us from becoming jaded and burned out.”
The flip side of that is remembering compassion for the health care workers caring for these patients, especially as the holidays approach. Not only will many of these workers continue long shifts through the holidays, they will do so knowing that many people are disregarding public health warnings to avoid gatherings.
“We need the public to do its part,” Delgado said. “Stop nonessential travel, adhere strictly to mask-wearing and social distancing guidelines, and limit gatherings with those outside your household,” Delgado said.
Katherine Harmon Courage is a freelance science journalist and author of Cultured and and Octopus! Find her on Twitter at @KHCourage.


vox--2020-12-24--Stories from a Lost Year

Stories from a Lost Year

Life in 2020 has been dominated by big stories .
The Covid-19 pandemic .
Protests against multiple centuries of systemic racism and injustice .
An impeachment .
A presidential election .
Murder hornets .
But beneath every one of these big stories is a long list of smaller personal ones .
Everyone ’ s experience of 2020 has been different , and everyone ’ s story has something worth hearing .
I went looking for those stories , in hopes of understanding the events of this year from the ground level .
What I found was remarkable .
I talked @ @ @ @ @ @ @ baby pig back to health .
I talked to a sex worker who very quickly had to figure out how to make his business Covid-19-safe .
I discussed opening up a marriage — at a time when nobody can see anybody in person — with someone who did just that .
I talked to a woman who fell in love with her mailman , and a postal carrier who grew distressed at how little her rural community seemed to be taking Covid-19 seriously .
I ’ ll be sharing 14 of those stories @ @ @ @ @ @ @ think they all underline the fact that no matter how dramatic or mundane your year was , it was that much more fascinating or difficult or compelling because of the times in which it took place .
This year is almost over , and another will follow .
I ’ m so glad we all got through it together .
We ’ ve lost so much in 2020 .
But we ’ ve found some things , too .
A woman , an injured baby pig , and a series of revelations “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is holy lying under the stars with friends and a pig sleeping in the crook of your arm.
” Non-monogamy , Zoom sex , and the agonizing wait to kiss your partner “ As soon as I started taking non-monogamy seriously , it was like any other coming out.
” A dad , his son , and the bittersweet realization of life ’ s true priorities “ In America , we say everything we do is for our child , but we spend a lot of time working and accumulating money and stuff @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Coming out — over the phone , to your mom , and across a language barrier “ I can ’ t do any of my old standup comedy .
And I don ’ t want to do it .
I literally am starting over from scratch.
” Marriage , kids , two jobs , maskless customers , and # BlackLivesMatter in the rural South “ The first couple weeks , I sucked at life .
I sucked at everything.
” A sudden crisis , online sex work , and a better understanding of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the loneliness for some customers .
I ’ m talking to them because they ’ re paying.
” A new dress , a new self-acceptance , and a sudden onset of the soul “ That day , for the first time , I saw myself .
And I knew I was trans .
Holy shit.
” Falling for your mailman in lockdown ( but not getting the happy ending you wanted ) “ I asked him , ‘ How ’ s everything going ?
How can we help ?
’ And I accidentally @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Chronic pain , an unusual love story , and reassurance via pickle A new baby who didn ’ t know your face for days because you were always wearing a mask Making your workplace Covid-safe — when you ’ re an escort A year in the life of a mail carrier .
( The year is 2020 . )
Exercise in quarantine , keeping a small business alive , and the unusual intimacy of Zoom

Life in 2020 has been dominated by big stories. The Covid-19 pandemic. Protests against multiple centuries of systemic racism and injustice. An impeachment. A presidential election. Murder hornets.
But beneath every one of these big stories is a long list of smaller personal ones. Everyone’s experience of 2020 has been different, and everyone’s story has something worth hearing. I went looking for those stories, in hopes of understanding the events of this year from the ground level.
What I found was remarkable. I talked to a woman who nursed an injured baby pig back to health. I talked to a sex worker who very quickly had to figure out how to make his business Covid-19-safe. I discussed opening up a marriage — at a time when nobody can see anybody in person — with someone who did just that. I talked to a woman who fell in love with her mailman, and a postal carrier who grew distressed at how little her rural community seemed to be taking Covid-19 seriously.
I’ll be sharing 14 of those stories over the next few weeks. I think they all underline the fact that no matter how dramatic or mundane your year was, it was that much more fascinating or difficult or compelling because of the times in which it took place.
This year is almost over, and another will follow. I’m so glad we all got through it together.
We’ve lost so much in 2020. But we’ve found some things, too.
“It’s easier to believe everything is holy lying under the stars with friends and a pig sleeping in the crook of your arm.”
“As soon as I started taking non-monogamy seriously, it was like any other coming out.”
“In America, we say everything we do is for our child, but we spend a lot of time working and accumulating money and stuff that we don’t need.”
“I can’t do any of my old standup comedy. And I don’t want to do it. I literally am starting over from scratch.”
“The first couple weeks, I sucked at life. I sucked at everything.”
“Online sex work has amplified the loneliness for some customers. I’m talking to them because they’re paying.”
“That day, for the first time, I saw myself. And I knew I was trans. Holy shit.”
“I asked him, ‘How’s everything going? How can we help?’ And I accidentally told him that I loved him.”
“There are certain ways — and maybe it’s not cool to say this — in which quarantine has been helpful.”
“I love just looking at his face when he sees there are other people in the world!”
“I haven’t contracted Covid yet. I’ve been lucky, because my bubble is probably huge.”
“It feels like I’ve never stopped playing Russian roulette because I never stopped working.”
“It’s been a lifeline. I don’t have very big classes but when we meet up [over Zoom], we check in with each other. We see how we’re doing.”
“Your to-do list, some days, it has just the one thing on it: Stay alive. And if you can do that, it’s a successful day.”


vox--2020-12-24--One Good Thing: Try reading “A Child’s Christmas in Wales” out loud

One Good Thing is Vox ’ s recommendations feature .
In each edition , find one more thing from the world of culture that we highly recommend .
Perhaps you are doing Christmas over Zoom this year .
In that case , you will need to find some sort of festive holiday activity that every member of your party can participate in .
Something you can do at a distance , which mostly rules out dinner and crafting and a lot of board games .
Something that won ’ t be affected by an audio lag , which rules out @ @ @ @ @ @ @ you take turns reading out loud from Dylan Thomas ’ s “ A Child ’ s Christmas in Wales ” ?
Reading out loud is one of the great communal Zoom activities because there ’ s a clear order to who ’ s speaking when and you don ’ t wind up in that awkward place where everyone is speaking over everyone else ’ s audio lag .
The downside is that under most circumstances , of course , reading out loud is insufferable as a group activity .
But at Christmas , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ pleasantly twee and old-fashioned pastime you might be craving .
And “ A Child ’ s Christmas in Wales ” is perfect for those purposes .
It ’ s the right length , barely 3,000 words long , the length of a mid-sized Vox explainer .
It also sounds right .
Thomas originally developed the piece for the radio , so it ’ s designed to be read out loud , with the words encouraging you to chew them as you read .
Give this sentence a try , describing postmen delivering Christmas @ @ @ @ @ @ @ wind-cherried noses , on spread , frozen feet they crunched up to the doors and mittened on them manfully.
” Mittened on them manfully .
Don ’ t you just want to say that out loud a time or two ?
Can ’ t you just see the postmen rapping bravely on those frozen doors ?
“ A Child ’ s Christmas in Wales ” is a prose narrative , more or less : not quite a short story , not quite an essay , maybe a little bit a prose poem .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ s childhood Christmases , sometimes delivered directly to the reader and sometimes delivered in dialogue with an imagined child listener .
In its 3,000 words , Thomas covers presents ( both Useful and Useless ) , house fires , candy cigarettes , and the ubiquity of uncles at Christmas .
What he is most concerned with , though , is evoking a sense memory of being a very small child at Christmas : the thrillingly cold snow , the itchy wool , the long stretches of boredom punctuated with vicious excitement .
In @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ] shawling out of the ground and [ swimming ] and [ drifting ] out of the arms and hands and bodies of the trees , ” while boys wage war on cats , “ sleek and long as jaguars and horrible-whiskered , ” and “ all the Christmases roll down towards the two-tongued sea , like a cold and headlong moon bundling down the sky that was our street.
” When you read that sentence , or you hear it read to you , all your Christmases will come rolling down the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
And then it will be as if you are there , even this year , when maybe you can not be .
Reading “ A Child ’ s Christmas in Wales ” is a way of gathering and escaping , all at the same time , in a year when we really need both .
You can find “ A Child ’ s Christmas in Wales ” on Project Gutenberg or in hardcover .

Perhaps you are doing Christmas over Zoom this year.
In that case, you will need to find some sort of festive holiday activity that every member of your party can participate in. Something you can do at a distance, which mostly rules out dinner and crafting and a lot of board games. Something that won’t be affected by an audio lag, which rules out carol singing.
May I suggest that you take turns reading out loud from Dylan Thomas’s “A Child’s Christmas in Wales”?
Reading out loud is one of the great communal Zoom activities because there’s a clear order to who’s speaking when and you don’t wind up in that awkward place where everyone is speaking over everyone else’s audio lag. The downside is that under most circumstances, of course, reading out loud is insufferable as a group activity. But at Christmas, it’s exactly the kind of pleasantly twee and old-fashioned pastime you might be craving.
And “A Child’s Christmas in Wales” is perfect for those purposes. It’s the right length, barely 3,000 words long, the length of a mid-sized Vox explainer. It also sounds right. Thomas originally developed the piece for the radio, so it’s designed to be read out loud, with the words encouraging you to chew them as you read. Give this sentence a try, describing postmen delivering Christmas packages: “With sprinkling eyes and wind-cherried noses, on spread, frozen feet they crunched up to the doors and mittened on them manfully.”
Mittened on them manfully. Don’t you just want to say that out loud a time or two? Can’t you just see the postmen rapping bravely on those frozen doors?
“A Child’s Christmas in Wales” is a prose narrative, more or less: not quite a short story, not quite an essay, maybe a little bit a prose poem. It consists of reminiscences of Thomas’s childhood Christmases, sometimes delivered directly to the reader and sometimes delivered in dialogue with an imagined child listener. In its 3,000 words, Thomas covers presents (both Useful and Useless), house fires, candy cigarettes, and the ubiquity of uncles at Christmas.
What he is most concerned with, though, is evoking a sense memory of being a very small child at Christmas: the thrillingly cold snow, the itchy wool, the long stretches of boredom punctuated with vicious excitement. In this piece, “snow [comes] shawling out of the ground and [swimming] and [drifting] out of the arms and hands and bodies of the trees,” while boys wage war on cats, “sleek and long as jaguars and horrible-whiskered,” and “all the Christmases roll down towards the two-tongued sea, like a cold and headlong moon bundling down the sky that was our street.”
When you read that sentence, or you hear it read to you, all your Christmases will come rolling down the street of your childhood home, too. And then it will be as if you are there, even this year, when maybe you cannot be. Reading “A Child’s Christmas in Wales” is a way of gathering and escaping, all at the same time, in a year when we really need both.
You can find “A Child’s Christmas in Wales” on Project Gutenberg or in hardcover. For more recommendations from the world of culture, check out the One Good Thing archives.


vox--2020-12-24--The Lost Year: Falling for your mailman in lockdown (but not getting the ending you wanted)

This is The Lost Year , a series of stories about our lived experiences in 2020 , as told to Vox critic at large Emily VanDerWerff .
When Alayna got in touch to tell me her story of a tumultuous 2020 , she titled the email “ A Very COVID Christmas.
” And even though she ’ s had a stressful , difficult year — one that involved opening a vintage clothing store just as quarantine began and losing a pet in the midst of the pandemic — a subject line that could have been the name of a Hallmark @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in the building that is both her store and her apartment for most of the year with mostly her bulldogs for company , developed a crush on her mailman .
That crush was slowly but surely reciprocated , leading to the kind of slow-burn , in-person flirtation that seems increasingly like a throwback to an era before dating apps .
As quarantine continued , the two got to know each other better — and then she found out his mail route was going to change in the new year .
I ’ ll @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , but the image that has stuck with me since talking to Alayna is of her , in the early days of the pandemic , sitting in her shop , slowly cutting apart her merchandise to make masks for the people of her neighborhood .
It seems to me a potent symbol of a time when nobody quite knew what to do , so we started making sacrifices to try to take care of and connect with each other .
Here ’ s the story of Alayna ’ s 2020 , as told @ @ @ @ @ @ @ terrible divorce in Erie , Pennsylvania , about two years ago , and I decided to move home with my family in Pittsburgh and follow my dreams and open up my own vintage clothing store .
I was gon na open my store in April , but that ’ s right when our governor gave a lockdown order .
I live in a little neighborhood right outside of the city , and nobody knew what was going on .
Are we supposed to wear gloves ?
Are we supposed to take our shoes @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that point , I was , like , “ Well , shit , I can ’ t open my store .
We might not make it through this .
Humanity might not make it through this !
” So I literally took my clothes , my merchandise , and started cutting it down into rectangles and making masks for the neighborhood .
It was , like , “ Forget it .
If I don ’ t ever get into business , at least I can help my neighbors.
” I was cutting up @ @ @ @ @ @ @ la Renta suit .
Like , “ Ugggh , whatever !
” But everyone got their masks .
It was basically just me and my bulldogs in the store .
We really didn ’ t see anyone .
I had to stop construction on my renovation .
Sometimes , my mom would stop by , and we ’ d wave just off the porch .
But !
We always saw the mailman .
Tried and true , he was there every day .
There were actually other mailmen , but only one caught @ @ @ @ @ @ @ only man that I saw for , like , six months .
I ’ d always appreciated how nice he was to my bulldogs .
I had two bulldogs at the beginning of quarantine , but I lost one about a month ago .
I cried more over losing him — his name was Meatball — than over any relationship with a human .
I cried more for Meatball than in my divorce .
I cried so much I had to go to the doctor because I got dry eye and had ruptured @ @ @ @ @ @ @ drops .
Thankfully , my other dog Louie is still here .
He ’ s doing better than I am .
It ’ s all a part of life , I guess .
Anyway , the dogs like anybody , so they ’ re not a very good tell .
They would just wait for people to come up and say hi to them .
I actually live above my boutique .
I have an apartment upstairs in the building , and I would take the dogs downstairs to work .
They ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to come visit .
The mailman was so sweet to them .
He would say hi to the dogs before me .
That caught my eye .
I forgot how to talk to people .
I just lost all my game , any swag that I ever had .
Remember a couple months back , people were like , “ We ’ re going to lose the post office !
” ?
So I asked him , “ How ’ s everything going ?
How can we help ?
” And I accidentally @ @ @ @ @ @ @ It came out really weird .
I was just like , “ Oh , thanks for all you do , and the dogs and I love you !
” He was very nice and didn ’ t miss a beat .
“ I love you guys , too.
” I tweeted , “ I just told the mailman I loved him on accident.
” It caused a little bit of a following .
I started asking the other mail guys about him .
Maybe the mailmen told him , “ Oh , the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ might have the hots for you.
” So he started coming by .
Our chats became a little bit longer .
We ’ re so used to dating apps and making a judgment call based on someone ’ s age , what they look like , and their job .
So this was like life before !
It was like , “ Oh , this must be like what they did during the Dust Bowl , when no one could go to see people.
” We ’ re stranded , but we can @ @ @ @ @ @ @ It was nice out , and it was summer .
I wasn ’ t working , so I was on the porch a lot .
He would park his van right beside my porch .
We had all the time in the world .
It was reasonable to take the time to get to know someone and ask each other questions .
He was just a giant teddy bear .
He was all bearded with long , flowy hair .
He was so the opposite of what I would typically go for .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ a guy in a suit , clean-shaven .
It was my first real ... encounter with a true yinzer in the time I ’ ve lived in Pittsburgh .
It was fun , too .
When was the last time in 2020 that I was able to be excited about something ?
One day , before we had really become friends , I saw him walk past my door , and I was like , “ [ gasps ] IT ’ S THE MAILMAN !
” He told me a couple days ago @ @ @ @ @ @ @ as of January 1 .
I was very like , “ I ’ m never gon na see him again.
” [ The panic ] was pretty intense !
But then I thought , “ Wait a minute .
He ’ s cute , but we ’ re just a little too different.
” The conversation just wasn ’ t free-flowing .
At first I thought that I was very awkward in general and had forgotten how to flirt .
Then I thought it was maybe nerves , where he didn ’ t @ @ @ @ @ @ @ could talk to a wall .
I could talk all day .
By the time we got to know each other and the nerves had passed — it got to an exhausting point where I was doing all the talking and asking all the questions .
And I ’ m certainly not going to settle after all the shit that I ’ ve been through .
I told him it wasn ’ t going to work out .
It was too bad .
It did feel a little like I was in a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ send me cheesy Christmas Hallmark film titles [ on Twitter ] .
Reroute Rudolph or Sealed With a Mistletoe Kiss .
It was so nice people could have a connection over something fun and nice .
But I tweeted , “ Twitter friends , I am so , so sorry , but I have to cancel A Very COVID Christmas .
Things just didn ’ t work out.
” It didn ’ t even last until Christmas .
But maybe I ’ ll get a spinoff .
Maybe I ’ ll get A @ @ @ @ @ @ @ pain , an unusual love story , and reassurance via pickle

This is The Lost Year, a series of stories about our lived experiences in 2020, as told to Vox critic at large Emily VanDerWerff.
When Alayna got in touch to tell me her story of a tumultuous 2020, she titled the email “A Very COVID Christmas.” And even though she’s had a stressful, difficult year — one that involved opening a vintage clothing store just as quarantine began and losing a pet in the midst of the pandemic — a subject line that could have been the name of a Hallmark movie was apt.
Alayna, stuck in the building that is both her store and her apartment for most of the year with mostly her bulldogs for company, developed a crush on her mailman. That crush was slowly but surely reciprocated, leading to the kind of slow-burn, in-person flirtation that seems increasingly like a throwback to an era before dating apps. As quarantine continued, the two got to know each other better — and then she found out his mail route was going to change in the new year.
I’ll let her tell you what happened next, but the image that has stuck with me since talking to Alayna is of her, in the early days of the pandemic, sitting in her shop, slowly cutting apart her merchandise to make masks for the people of her neighborhood. It seems to me a potent symbol of a time when nobody quite knew what to do, so we started making sacrifices to try to take care of and connect with each other.
Here’s the story of Alayna’s 2020, as told to me.
So I had a terrible divorce in Erie, Pennsylvania, about two years ago, and I decided to move home with my family in Pittsburgh and follow my dreams and open up my own vintage clothing store. I was gonna open my store in April, but that’s right when our governor gave a lockdown order.
I live in a little neighborhood right outside of the city, and nobody knew what was going on. Are we supposed to wear gloves? Are we supposed to take our shoes off? Nobody had masks. At that point, I was, like, “Well, shit, I can’t open my store. We might not make it through this. Humanity might not make it through this!” So I literally took my clothes, my merchandise, and started cutting it down into rectangles and making masks for the neighborhood. It was, like, “Forget it. If I don’t ever get into business, at least I can help my neighbors.” I was cutting up 1970s polyester and even this Oscar de la Renta suit. Like, “Ugggh, whatever!” But everyone got their masks.
It was basically just me and my bulldogs in the store. We really didn’t see anyone. I had to stop construction on my renovation. Sometimes, my mom would stop by, and we’d wave just off the porch. But! We always saw the mailman. Tried and true, he was there every day. There were actually other mailmen, but only one caught my eye. Essentially he was the only man that I saw for, like, six months.
I’d always appreciated how nice he was to my bulldogs. I had two bulldogs at the beginning of quarantine, but I lost one about a month ago. I cried more over losing him — his name was Meatball — than over any relationship with a human. I cried more for Meatball than in my divorce. I cried so much I had to go to the doctor because I got dry eye and had ruptured blood vessels and had to get eye drops. Thankfully, my other dog Louie is still here. He’s doing better than I am. It’s all a part of life, I guess.
Anyway, the dogs like anybody, so they’re not a very good tell. They would just wait for people to come up and say hi to them. I actually live above my boutique. I have an apartment upstairs in the building, and I would take the dogs downstairs to work. They’d wait at the door for people to come visit. The mailman was so sweet to them. He would say hi to the dogs before me. That caught my eye.
I forgot how to talk to people. I just lost all my game, any swag that I ever had. Remember a couple months back, people were like, “We’re going to lose the post office!”? So I asked him, “How’s everything going? How can we help?” And I accidentally told him that I loved him. It came out really weird. I was just like, “Oh, thanks for all you do, and the dogs and I love you!” He was very nice and didn’t miss a beat. “I love you guys, too.”
I tweeted, “I just told the mailman I loved him on accident.” It caused a little bit of a following.
I started asking the other mail guys about him. Maybe the mailmen told him, “Oh, the new girl down at the clothing store might have the hots for you.” So he started coming by. Our chats became a little bit longer. We’re so used to dating apps and making a judgment call based on someone’s age, what they look like, and their job. So this was like life before! It was like, “Oh, this must be like what they did during the Dust Bowl, when no one could go to see people.” We’re stranded, but we can always rely on the post office.
It was nice out, and it was summer. I wasn’t working, so I was on the porch a lot. He would park his van right beside my porch. We had all the time in the world. It was reasonable to take the time to get to know someone and ask each other questions. He was just a giant teddy bear. He was all bearded with long, flowy hair. He was so the opposite of what I would typically go for. I’m usually a sucker for a guy in a suit, clean-shaven. It was my first real ... encounter with a true yinzer in the time I’ve lived in Pittsburgh.
It was fun, too. When was the last time in 2020 that I was able to be excited about something? One day, before we had really become friends, I saw him walk past my door, and I was like, “[gasps] IT’S THE MAILMAN!” He told me a couple days ago that he was getting a new route as of January 1. I was very like, “I’m never gonna see him again.” [The panic] was pretty intense!
But then I thought, “Wait a minute. He’s cute, but we’re just a little too different.” The conversation just wasn’t free-flowing. At first I thought that I was very awkward in general and had forgotten how to flirt. Then I thought it was maybe nerves, where he didn’t know what to ask me. I could talk to a wall. I could talk all day. By the time we got to know each other and the nerves had passed — it got to an exhausting point where I was doing all the talking and asking all the questions. And I’m certainly not going to settle after all the shit that I’ve been through. I told him it wasn’t going to work out.
It was too bad. It did feel a little like I was in a Hallmark movie. People on Twitter would send me cheesy Christmas Hallmark film titles [on Twitter]. Reroute Rudolph or Sealed With a Mistletoe Kiss. It was so nice people could have a connection over something fun and nice. But I tweeted, “Twitter friends, I am so, so sorry, but I have to cancel A Very COVID Christmas. Things just didn’t work out.” It didn’t even last until Christmas.
But maybe I’ll get a spinoff. Maybe I’ll get A Christmas COVID Prince.
Next: Chronic pain, an unusual love story, and reassurance via pickle


vox--2020-12-24--Food banks have had a record year. Here’s what it’s like to run one.

Years ago , when Derrick Chubbs was working at the Red Cross , his team held a seminar simulating a potential pandemic .
Chubbs , now the president of the Central Texas Food Bank , recalled that training earlier this year as he stared down a potential world-altering crisis .
Before the rest of us were taking the coronavirus seriously , he stockpiled food , implemented safety measures , and scouted auxiliary storage facilities .
But like so many other organizations pushing through the Covid-19 era , Chubbs quickly understood that there was no way to fully prepare for a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to roll with the punches — that ’ s the only way a nonprofit can sufficiently cover the economic carnage the coronavirus is leaving in its wake .
Speaking as 2020 winds to a close , Chubbs tells me that , this year , the Central Texas Food Bank has smashed all of its previous records .
Covid-19 has debilitated the American job market and has left an unprecedented wave of food insecurity .
Thanksgiving was marked by long lines of cars piled up outside food pantries across the country .
The Washington @ @ @ @ @ @ @ shortages of 8 billion meals over the next year .
The National Geographic speculated that one in six US residents could go hungry as the pandemic persists .
Even as vaccines mobilize , it ’ s clear that this emergency isn ’ t going to go away .
Unsurprisingly , the Central Texas Food Bank is distributing more food to more people than ever before , and tallying up a much larger bill in the process .
All of this keeps Chubbs awake at night .
He ’ s confident that the Central @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the demand through the next few months .
But if his worst fears come true and people are still impoverished and hungry by 2023 , Chubbs isn ’ t sure if his infrastructure will hold up .
We talked about that , as well as how his staff socially distances while dropping off meals , and his long , strange journey from Dell and IBM to the nonprofit sphere .
What made you want to leave the tech industry for a nonprofit ?
At a certain point , I felt that I needed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was doing .
I have no complaints about my experiences with IBM , Pervasive , or Dell .
They were all unique , I got paid , no complaints .
But in all honesty , I needed more .
I started feeling it long before I left , and I ’ ve been fortunate enough to have some good mentors along the way .
Eventually , the stars aligned and I got a call about the Red Cross , and I never thought they ’ d hire me .
I thought they ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ try to turn the organization into Dell , but they did , and that ’ s how I got my start in the field .
If I could do it differently , I wouldn ’ t .
I ’ d do it exactly the same way .
Even though I didn ’ t plan this journey at all .
How were you preparing at the food bank at the beginning of the pandemic as it became clear we were headed for a shutdown ?
I remember going back to some Red Cross simulations @ @ @ @ @ @ @ happened to be simulating a pandemic , and that was the scariest class I had ever gone to .
In February , I didn ’ t expect Covid to be as dramatic in America as it ended up being , but I remember bringing the team together and saying , “ Let ’ s have a what-if discussion .
What if this thing blows out of proportion ?
” The more we talked about it , the more we became afraid .
My first thought was , “ What if this thing lingers @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” First and foremost was minimizing risk for the team — both staff and volunteers .
What do we need to do in the building to protect them ?
We interact with hundreds of clients on a daily basis .
Was it difficult to scale up your production to face the crisis ?
Eighty percent of our food is distributed through 250 partner agencies across the counties that we serve .
It wasn ’ t just us .
We ’ re talking food pantries , church pantries — some very small , some @ @ @ @ @ @ @ volunteers to run those operations .
And the majority of those volunteers were in the high-risk group .
It was a totally different dynamic we had to deal with .
How do we scale ourselves and help our partners scale at the same time ?
We hadn ’ t even started talking about issues procuring food .
How did the shutdown affect your supply chain ?
How prepared were you ?
We had to change our entire model .
We can ’ t do client-choice anymore .
Now we distribute through boxes of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ see on television : these lines and lines of cars , with food banks loading food directly into them .
The number of people that could congregate in one area was also drastically reduced , which means that we dropped the number of volunteers we could bring into the building by 70 percent .
Normally , we could handle 100 volunteers per shift .
That went down to 30 .
At the same time , demand was skyrocketing .
We ’ re seeing a lot of reports about food bank shortages right now @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that nationally ?
A lack of inventory , or the logistical challenges you just described ?
We were fortunate because we had food .
I started buying a lot of food at the beginning .
We weren ’ t one of those banks that was strapped for cash and couldn ’ t accumulate a stockpile .
I even started looking for additional places to store food in the event that I couldn ’ t store it all in my building .
So in our first 90 days , I didn ’ t have @ @ @ @ @ @ @ had was a human resource problem , and not having as many people as I needed .
We went to five of our largest churches that had major operations , and we could pull trucks up into their parking lots and unload pallets of food so they could build boxes for us .
That ’ s how we got through July : us and our churches building those boxes .
If it hadn ’ t been for that , we wouldn ’ t have been able to meet the demand .
How much @ @ @ @ @ @ @ compared to years past ?
Ordinarily , we would distribute 3.7 million to 4 million pounds of food a month .
We are now in the 7 million range .
“ Ordinarily , we would distribute 4 million pounds of food a month .
We are now in the 7 million range.
” The pandemic has left so many people out of work .
In the mid-to-late summer , we saw people coming to us for the first time .
We track that stat .
It was a 200 percent increase of newcomers @ @ @ @ @ @ @ last year .
This year , we ’ ve done 64.5 million .
Ordinarily , we ’ d distribute food to about 50,000 people a week .
Last month , we distributed food to 343,000 .
I fully expect December to be higher than November .
Have you had any moments of anxiety ?
A feeling of , “ I ’ m not sure we can keep up with this ” ?
Only at the beginning .
We realized the amount of money we were spending to purchase food increased exponentially .
Ordinarily @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a month on food .
Over the last several months in a row , we were over a million .
That scares me because it ’ s unsustainable .
We can ’ t continue to do that .
I ’ m living off the extreme generosity of this community , but that won ’ t last forever .
We had a consulting group come in pro bono , and one of the things they were saying is that we will see elevated levels throughout 2021 , well into 2022 , and as a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ are at the beginning of this .
The number of people coming to us just keeps getting higher .
We had a similar spike during the government shutdown during 2019 , and the thing we kept hearing from out-of-work government employees was , “ This will likely take me six months to recover from just being unemployed for six weeks.
” Can you imagine what ’ s coming our way ?
We have people who ’ ve been out of work for months , some of them for a year .
The recovery @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
How are you guys looking right now ?
Obviously , it ’ s impossible to know how things will be years down the line , but are you confident that your food bank can continue to meet demand for the next few months ?
I feel pretty good about it .
I am blessed to be in one of the most supportive communities in this country .
They ’ ve always come to the rescue .
I feel confident that we ’ ll keep it up for the next 90 days .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ it might be a different story .
My concern is still hinged on the ability to procure enough food to meet these demands .
And to be totally honest with you , even at the levels we ’ re at now , we ’ re still 25 percent short of meeting the complete demand .
We ’ re literally wrestling with what ’ s in front of us .
But we ’ re doing everything we can to continue to distribute food and continue to advocate for the dignity and self-respect of the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ make sure that they know we ’ re here for them and that we ’ re not judging , no matter what .

Years ago, when Derrick Chubbs was working at the Red Cross, his team held a seminar simulating a potential pandemic. Chubbs, now the president of the Central Texas Food Bank, recalled that training earlier this year as he stared down a potential world-altering crisis. Before the rest of us were taking the coronavirus seriously, he stockpiled food, implemented safety measures, and scouted auxiliary storage facilities. But like so many other organizations pushing through the Covid-19 era, Chubbs quickly understood that there was no way to fully prepare for a pandemic. He and his team needed to roll with the punches — that’s the only way a nonprofit can sufficiently cover the economic carnage the coronavirus is leaving in its wake.
Speaking as 2020 winds to a close, Chubbs tells me that, this year, the Central Texas Food Bank has smashed all of its previous records. Covid-19 has debilitated the American job market and has left an unprecedented wave of food insecurity. Thanksgiving was marked by long lines of cars piled up outside food pantries across the country. The Washington Post reported that the US could face shortages of 8 billion meals over the next year. The National Geographic speculated that one in six US residents could go hungry as the pandemic persists. Even as vaccines mobilize, it’s clear that this emergency isn’t going to go away. Unsurprisingly, the Central Texas Food Bank is distributing more food to more people than ever before, and tallying up a much larger bill in the process.
All of this keeps Chubbs awake at night. He’s confident that the Central Texas Food Bank can continue to meet the demand through the next few months. But if his worst fears come true and people are still impoverished and hungry by 2023, Chubbs isn’t sure if his infrastructure will hold up. We talked about that, as well as how his staff socially distances while dropping off meals, and his long, strange journey from Dell and IBM to the nonprofit sphere.
What made you want to leave the tech industry for a nonprofit?
At a certain point, I felt that I needed to feel more relevance in what I was doing. I have no complaints about my experiences with IBM, Pervasive, or Dell. They were all unique, I got paid, no complaints. But in all honesty, I needed more. I started feeling it long before I left, and I’ve been fortunate enough to have some good mentors along the way. Eventually, the stars aligned and I got a call about the Red Cross, and I never thought they’d hire me. I thought they’d think that I was going to try to turn the organization into Dell, but they did, and that’s how I got my start in the field.
If I could do it differently, I wouldn’t. I’d do it exactly the same way. Even though I didn’t plan this journey at all.
How were you preparing at the food bank at the beginning of the pandemic as it became clear we were headed for a shutdown?
I remember going back to some Red Cross simulations that I had. One of them happened to be simulating a pandemic, and that was the scariest class I had ever gone to. In February, I didn’t expect Covid to be as dramatic in America as it ended up being, but I remember bringing the team together and saying, “Let’s have a what-if discussion. What if this thing blows out of proportion?” The more we talked about it, the more we became afraid. My first thought was, “What if this thing lingers? What areas might be impacted?” First and foremost was minimizing risk for the team — both staff and volunteers. What do we need to do in the building to protect them? We interact with hundreds of clients on a daily basis.
Was it difficult to scale up your production to face the crisis?
Eighty percent of our food is distributed through 250 partner agencies across the counties that we serve. It wasn’t just us. We’re talking food pantries, church pantries — some very small, some large — and they depend heavily on volunteers to run those operations. And the majority of those volunteers were in the high-risk group. It was a totally different dynamic we had to deal with. How do we scale ourselves and help our partners scale at the same time? We hadn’t even started talking about issues procuring food.
How did the shutdown affect your supply chain? How prepared were you?
We had to change our entire model. We can’t do client-choice anymore. Now we distribute through boxes of food. That’s what you see on television: these lines and lines of cars, with food banks loading food directly into them.
The number of people that could congregate in one area was also drastically reduced, which means that we dropped the number of volunteers we could bring into the building by 70 percent. Normally, we could handle 100 volunteers per shift. That went down to 30. At the same time, demand was skyrocketing.
We’re seeing a lot of reports about food bank shortages right now. What do you think is causing that nationally? A lack of inventory, or the logistical challenges you just described?
We were fortunate because we had food. I started buying a lot of food at the beginning. We weren’t one of those banks that was strapped for cash and couldn’t accumulate a stockpile. I even started looking for additional places to store food in the event that I couldn’t store it all in my building.
So in our first 90 days, I didn’t have a major supply challenge. What I had was a human resource problem, and not having as many people as I needed. We went to five of our largest churches that had major operations, and we could pull trucks up into their parking lots and unload pallets of food so they could build boxes for us. That’s how we got through July: us and our churches building those boxes. If it hadn’t been for that, we wouldn’t have been able to meet the demand.
How much more food have you distributed this year compared to years past?
Ordinarily, we would distribute 3.7 million to 4 million pounds of food a month. We are now in the 7 million range.
“Ordinarily, we would distribute 4 million pounds of food a month. We are now in the 7 million range.”
The pandemic has left so many people out of work. In the mid-to-late summer, we saw people coming to us for the first time. We track that stat. It was a 200 percent increase of newcomers. Our target was 50 million pounds last year. This year, we’ve done 64.5 million. Ordinarily, we’d distribute food to about 50,000 people a week. Last month, we distributed food to 343,000. I fully expect December to be higher than November.
Have you had any moments of anxiety? A feeling of, “I’m not sure we can keep up with this”?
Only at the beginning. We realized the amount of money we were spending to purchase food increased exponentially. Ordinarily, we would spend about $100,000 a month on food. Over the last several months in a row, we were over a million. That scares me because it’s unsustainable. We can’t continue to do that. I’m living off the extreme generosity of this community, but that won’t last forever.
We had a consulting group come in pro bono, and one of the things they were saying is that we will see elevated levels throughout 2021, well into 2022, and as a worst-case scenario, into 2023. We are at the beginning of this. The number of people coming to us just keeps getting higher. We had a similar spike during the government shutdown during 2019, and the thing we kept hearing from out-of-work government employees was, “This will likely take me six months to recover from just being unemployed for six weeks.” Can you imagine what’s coming our way? We have people who’ve been out of work for months, some of them for a year. The recovery is going to be extremely long term.
How are you guys looking right now? Obviously, it’s impossible to know how things will be years down the line, but are you confident that your food bank can continue to meet demand for the next few months?
I feel pretty good about it. I am blessed to be in one of the most supportive communities in this country. They’ve always come to the rescue. I feel confident that we’ll keep it up for the next 90 days. Ask me after those 90 days and it might be a different story. My concern is still hinged on the ability to procure enough food to meet these demands. And to be totally honest with you, even at the levels we’re at now, we’re still 25 percent short of meeting the complete demand.
We’re literally wrestling with what’s in front of us. But we’re doing everything we can to continue to distribute food and continue to advocate for the dignity and self-respect of the people that seek our services. To make sure that they know we’re here for them and that we’re not judging, no matter what.