It’s the little things that make us feel less alone

A few months ago, I started watching a reality series on Amazon Prime called “Alone.” The show title seemed fitting at the time, since no one in my family would watch it with me except, on occasion, my husband. But now, in our hurting, quarantined world, the title seems downright prophetic.

The premise of the show is that ten survival experts are dropped onto separate remote areas of Vancouver Island with nothing but their wits and a backpack full of whatever gear they can fit inside. Whomever can survive out in the wild the longest wins $500,000. That’s a lot of money, so most of them are understandably motivated. But, motivation or not, reality will always prevail.

One contestant got dropped off by the helicopter and almost immediately started hearing bears in the distance. He didn’t even last until nightfall before he fired up his satellite phone and asked for the producers to come pick him up. I completely understand. I would have asked to go home before the helicopter even touched down. 

Another contestant has the mouth of a sailor and the prickly demeanor of a porcupine. He accidentally sets his shelter on fire and gets mad at the universe if he trips over a tree branch or fails to catch a fish in his net. He manages to hang on for a long time simply by white-knuckling it through each day. It’s not pretty to watch, but he’s surviving.

Then there’s my favorite contestant, a man named Jose from Spain, who makes wilderness survival look like a highly civilized art form. At one point, he decides he’d like to try venturing out into the bay, so he builds a kayak out of wood he foraged from the forest, twine that washed up on the beach, and one of the tarps he brought in his backpack. He makes a functioning kayak out of garbage! See what I mean? An art form!

By Day 45, there were four contestants left, my Spaniard being one of them. He hadn’t eaten hardly at all for days and was starving, cold, and exhausted, but he wasn’t ready to give up. He started carving a fishing pole from a stick he found on the beach, but instead of just getting it into a general “fishing pole” shape, he took the time to carve one end into an intricate a replica of a fish. 

“Why is he spending even one ounce of his precious energy doing something so frivolous?” I wondered as I watched him patiently add details to the fish carving. And then he said this:

“Make it so that the objects that you use—everyday objects—become meaningful. These little things…are emotional assets that can carry you. If it’s a rough day, that can be just the difference between wanting to leave or wanting to go another day, maybe another few days, and then conditions get better, who knows?”

I love the idea of surrounding yourself with “emotional assets”—objects and activities that may seem unnecessary for survival but that can be just the thing to lift your spirits when life gets rough, and can therefore keep you going.

I’ve never needed emotional assets more than I do right now. The world is full of suffering, unrest, and uncertainty, and some nights I lie awake with my eyes wide open, worrying about what the next day will throw at me and the rest of humanity. I’ve come to depend on small emotional assets, like giving one of my little boys a fresh haircut; wearing the necklace my husband gave me on our tenth wedding anniversary; watching “Anne of Green Gables” with my daughters; knowing that I have two Costco-size bags of chocolate chips stored in my pantry; and getting dressed each week in my Sunday best even though church services are held with just my family in our living room. 

None of these things is directly related to surviving the difficulties we’re experiencing right now, but hanging onto their beauty and normalcy lifts me, fills me, and gives me just the nudge I need to keep moving forward. Sometimes it’s the littlest things that make us feel the least alone.