North Star Writers Group

I recently found myself fallen into one of those loopholes in our society that only the lackadaisicist (now it’s a word) can discover – that brief, often three-month period during which your new employer neglects to cover your health insurance. Of course, once informed that I would be fully insured after a mere three months, I instinctively counted myself among those most fortunate, for experience has taught me that health insurance, bought by a company of one, requires a fortune. But oh, how quickly fortunes can turn.

As it turns out, before I launched myself into the stratosphere in a courageous attempt at a rebound and landed on the top part of my left foot, which quickly rolled forward until, amazingly, the entire top portion of my foot between my toes and the left side of my ankle was all that supported the weight of my body in its impressive entirety (which was, at this point, traveling rapidly toward the hardwood floor), I was almost completely unaware that the loophole in which I had fallen could bring about such an instantaneous and downright ruthless combination of financial and physical agony.

But ah, such is life. Now I sit, having just performed the laziest week since God invented the week system, my giant, swelled-up, cast foot propped up on a pile of pillows, trying to figure out if God is simply punishing me for my patronage of this season’s American Idol, or if he is merely making an example of the first ever self-proclaimed lackadaisicist.

Anyway, the whole thing got me to pondering the idea of insurance. I’m not going to whine about the stupid three-month waiting period that screwed up my situation, though I’m sure it would be enjoyable. Instead, I couldn’t help but wonder how the world got on for so long, and still does in many areas, without insurance salesmen. And this, quite naturally, prompted my curiosity as to how any society ever functioned effectively without insurance.

I’m not that smart, and I might end up being way off the mark here, but bear with me. An insurance company aims to make a profit, primarily because the more people they insure, the more houses their respective CEOs own in Fiji. Now what service do they provide, in order to afford expensive Fiji real estate? As far as I can see, the main service they provide is to help us save our money so that, if and when an accident does occur, fixing the damages is a little more affordable. If I fractured an appendage every odd month and contracted a rare disease every even month, the insurance company would make slightly less money on me than they would if I ate an apple a day, and, say, religiously washed my hands before leaving the restroom.

So getting back to the prehistoric, pre-insurance salesmen, pre-insurance era, how did people survive? Did they – gulp – save their money? Were medical licenses sold by the bundle at Wal-Mart? Or did people just die? Rumor has it that, centuries ago, mid-life crises were happening to teenagers, so the dying hypothesis might not be that far off.

Allow me one last diversion.

“Insurance” is actually one of the more easily traced words, etymologically speaking, coming from the word “ensure”, which literally means, to “make sure,” sure coming from the word, “sur,” which is derived from the French word, “seur,” which is derived from the Latin word, “securus,” which, of course, means secure. So what insurance really means is security – but not anymore.

In the 21^st Century, the word “insurance” refers exclusively to corporations that, in some cases, we are legally required to patronize (and in others, have extremely funny caveman commercials). Insurance no longer refers specifically to security, but to a heavily decreased probability that a tragedy or disaster will destroy one’s financial livelihood.

There is no debate over what is gained. Health, car, house, life insurance, these have come to the monetary rescue of almost everyone who has ever suffered sudden tragedy or loss.

But in the midst of this great period of potential financial security, take a second and consider what we may have lost.

I wonder if we have lost the beautiful sense of obligation we have to our neighbors, our friends and even our very families. I wonder if we have forgotten the joy of looking out for the needs of others, and then looking in to see if we might help fulfill them. I wonder if we have forgotten what it feels like to guiltlessly request aid, and to find our needs joyously met by others. As we have gained a great sense and reverence for self-reliance, I wonder if we have lost our sense and reverence for community. Ironically, the insurance age could just as easily be considered the age of debt. I’ll let you figure that one out. Even parents and children find themselves at odds because of financial debts and increased pressure for financial responsibility and independence. As we continue to obsess about finding our own way, we seem to have lost our willingness to help and be helped during our search.

I fear there is an abstract but grave human consequence to unanimously placing our security in the hands of corporate bank accounts managed by strangers. For financial stability is not synonymous with security, and checks from corporations will never carry the same meaning as gifts from friends.

The solution to this epidemic has nothing to do with dropping your insurance coverage. (Look how well that turned out for me.) But it has a lot do with reconsidering what security really means. While we all are responsible for demonstrating (and teaching, if children are involved) financial responsibility, we can also demonstrate that there is great joy in helping those in need. Once we find ourselves on the other end, there ought to be no shame in requesting help. I, for one, would greatly prefer to place my security in the hands of those who love me, and whose arms will be open whether my needs are tangible or not.

To offer feedback on this column, click here.

Click here to talk to our writers and editors about this column and others in our discussion forum.

To e-mail feedback about this column, click here. If you enjoy this writer's work, please contact your local newspapers editors and ask them to carry it.

This is Column # NS43. Request permission to publish here.