on our crumbling inner infrastructures

To hear Brandi read the essay, click here: https://youtu.be/kDiZj27TKOU

Infrastructure has been on my mind lately because of the massive bill President Biden wants to pass at the federal level. It is basically a thing everyone needs, and for which no one feels responsible. Every sector of society depends on healthy infrastructure, yet few want to spend money to improve the foundational elements of society. I don’t get warm fuzzies when I replace my roof or air conditioner, even though I know those improvements are necessary. Investing in infrastructure is boring. Nevertheless, every election, Presidents include it in their platforms. We know it matters. They know we need it. Despite our intellectual consent to invest in what we know we need, such investments rarely become law when the time to allocate funds arises.

As with most things, we notice the failures of our representatives in DC without acknowledging the failures within. More on that later.

A fascinating aspect of the current round of talks is the fight over how we define infrastructure. Republicans accuse Biden of calling every investment an investment in infrastructure. Roads and Bridges? Sure. Electrical grids? Of course. Internet access? Sure, I guess. But child care? Investing in R & D? Raising wages for essential workers? Hold on, here…

Biden, and some Democrats, respond to the accusation that the bill is a bait and switch by arguing, “Yes, indeed. It’s all infrastructure. Investing in these areas secures the foundation on which our entire economy and society is built.” 

I’m not going to discuss the merits of the bill here, but the question of how we define the term sparks my curiosity. What qualifies as infrastructure, and how do we determine when to fortify or repair a crumbling frame? When in doubt, lean in with precise language. Hard infrastructure is the physical junk required for our society to move. We need buildings, bridges, rails, roads, electrical grids and internet highways to share ideas, goods and services. Hard infrastructure.

Soft infrastructure is where we get in the weeds. It includes the people, the systems that support the people, even the health and wellness of all those involved in running a society. Biden’s bill invests in both, and asserts soft infrastructure is necessary and vital to our ability to thrive.

My own psyche and household are in desperate need of infrastructure investment. During Covid, our heat went out in the depth of winter, our pipes burst in a freeze, our water heater broke in a flash flood, our internet went down when a tree fell.  We didn’t have enough space or wifi for 6 of us to work and teach and learn from home at the same time. Covid strained our systems, and our hard infrastructure needs became obvious.

With near universal vaccine access and the opening of our businesses and schools, the strain on our home infrastructures lightens. What about our soft infrastructure though? The physical deficiencies of the structures and systems upon which we rely are obvious. The emotional, mental, relational and spiritual deficiencies—the human tolls—are harder to quantify.

As the demand for normal increases, and as we discover trustworthy means of safely resuming our patterns of life , we will quickly be expected to function at full capacity. Before we find our frantic norms though, I hope to raise some curiosity about the state of your own soft infrastructure.

What are the systems and routines that sustain you, and how are they doing?

Here in Nashville we have been hit with a slew of storms, hail and tornado warnings in the last month. When trees fall and roofs are damaged, we move with urgency to repair them. How has your soul and psyche been damaged this year? Where does it hurt when you have to function vocationally, civically or socially? What would it look like in your own life to repair and rebuild the soft infrastructure that sustains you?

To begin, remember that the wear and tear of this year on your self has likely been intense, and the damage is worth investigating. Reflect on the questions above to identify what needs repair within you.

Next, ask for help. Identify what is crumbling, and find partners in your own restoration. I tend to think I can do anything to which I set my mind, but even I know I can’t repair my own roof. Why then, do I assume I can probably restore my understanding of time, priorities, and how I invest in my community? Ask for help in moving through your grief, your feelings of being overwhelmed, your reduced social stamina, your awkward small talk, hugs or high fives, your feelings of purposelessness around work, the loneliness that haunts you, the normal you no longer want.

Finally, make necessary budget allocations. Identifying the problem and exploring solutions will not help you heal if you don’t commit to do the work. Reflect, find help, and then find time and space to make it better.

If I had more precise advice I would give it. I don’t. I simply think we need to invest some energy in inner repair before the world takes off again. Living well with ourselves and others is costly. We often bear that cost with little thought to the long term exhaustion or damage we bear. Like any structure or system, every part is valuable for full functionality. Our very selves are no exception. Take a look. Invest, even if it feels like a drag, and commit to repair the torn places within.