Rule #177: Fear of Toilet Paper

Fear is useful. It keeps us from doing stupid things that will kill us — like messing with alligators or answering the door for a pair of Jehovah’s Witnesses on a Saturday. If my kids get a creepy feeling about a person or place, I tell them to trust that judgment and steer clear. Fear often nudges us toward decisions that keep us safe.

But fear is complicated. Sometimes it’s something we must overcome with courage. I’ve talked with many people who served in the military; in the worst moments they were terrified, but because of honor and commitment they moved forward anyway. They say they were afraid — only a fool would not be — yet they turned that fear into heightened awareness. Fear can be the caffeine that wakes us up when we need it; digested and used, it can be powerful.

Other times fear is irrational. It makes us act stupidly. When I lived in the Northeast it was snowstorms — every low off the coast was going to bury us. And for some reason if you bought eggs, milk and bread you felt more prepared. I call it the French toast syndrome.

In the South it’s hurricanes — every low off Cuba looks like the end of the world. Media feeds this: fear, like sex, sells. The more frightened viewers are, the more they watch, and the more people hoard and act wildly.

James Carville’s mantra, “Never let a good crisis go to waste,” has become a business strategy for our 24-hour news world — from Fox to CNN to MSNBC, even the Weather Channel. When we catch weather reporters standing in a hole to make flooding look worse, who can we trust? The world feels unmoored.

And yet — sometimes the storm does hit, the hurricane does make landfall, and the virus does kill people. Odds don’t comfort us when it’s our turn. Whether there’s a 10% chance of infection or a 3% mortality rate, our minds are terrible at measuring risk. We’re the same species that believes the next scratch-off will be a winner and that somehow the worst will land on us. When news outlets amplify fear, how do we find a sounder path?

Look at the empty toilet paper aisle and take a breath. We are not dying today. We have time to think and decide. We don’t need to grab every chicken off the plate — leave some for others. Hoarding turns sensible preparation into end-of-the-world madness. No one is going to run out of toilet paper unless some people load their minivans with 800 rolls.

I live on the water in Florida, so every April I check the generator, stock four or five cases of water, and add some canned goods — I expect storms. For the COVID-19 crisis, we’ve stocked the cabinets and doubled down on handwashing and avoiding face-touching. I’m not hiding with a cache of ammo; I’m being prudent and breathing. Even as a 60-year-old with several underlying conditions, I expect to be alive come May. Our family’s 36 rolls give us a small edge getting through this.

Make rational, thoughtful decisions and don’t react to every breaking-news alert. Half the world tells you to panic; the other half says there’s nothing to worry about. No, I’m not booking cruises right now (I know I’ll take one in the future), and no, I’m not traveling to northern Italy this year. But I’m going about my days largely unaffected by the hysteria and will travel for business when necessary. Assess risk for yourself — based on as many facts as you can get and as few talking heads as possible.

Remember: breathe, think, question everything — and yes, 36 rolls are enough for 14 days of quarantine.

Love, Dad