It's part of the American experience: We deal with mosquitoes in

Monica Hesse, in her piercing observation, declares: “It's part of the American experience: We deal with mosquitoes in August, airport delays around Thanksgiving, expensive health care and the potential of being shot, at any time, by a semiautomatic weapon as we try to go about the most boring, precious, asinine aspects of our daily lives.” These words cut deep, for they blend the ordinary irritations of life with the extraordinary dangers that shadow modern existence. Her tone is wry, yet beneath the humor lies lamentation. She names what many feel but struggle to voice: that woven into the fabric of American life are both the inconveniences of nature and bureaucracy, and the looming, unnatural terror of violence.

The origin of her reflection lies in the duality of the American condition. For generations, America has been painted as a land of promise, of freedom, of endless opportunity. Yet alongside its glories lie contradictions—abundance mixed with anxiety, innovation coupled with chaos, comfort overshadowed by fear. Hesse names in one breath the nuisance of mosquitoes, the frustration of airport delays, the burden of health care, and the horror of mass shootings. In doing so, she elevates her words beyond mere complaint—they become a cultural diagnosis.

Consider the real-life story of the Columbine High School tragedy in 1999, or the countless shootings that have followed in schools, churches, theaters, and grocery stores. These were places meant for learning, worship, leisure, and the small joys of daily life—those “boring, precious aspects” Hesse names. Yet in an instant, they were transformed into sites of horror. Just as one expects mosquitoes in summer or delayed flights in November, many Americans now live with the expectation that public spaces may not be safe. The quote reflects the bitter truth that what should be abnormal has become woven into the common experience.

History offers parallels. In the ancient Roman Empire, citizens enjoyed baths, markets, and theaters, yet lived with the ever-present knowledge that riots or sudden violence might erupt. In medieval cities, townspeople endured the rhythms of plague, knowing that ordinary acts—walking to market, breaking bread with family—might be shattered without warning. Hesse’s words echo these eternal patterns: the fragility of daily life, where the mundane and the tragic coexist, forcing humanity to live with resilience in the face of uncertainty.

The deeper teaching here is not despair but awareness. Hesse’s words call us to recognize that life’s preciousness is magnified by its vulnerability. The most asinine moments—buying groceries, waiting at a bus stop, sipping coffee—are in fact sacred because they are the threads that weave human life. To risk losing them to sudden violence is a reminder that safety is not to be taken for granted, and that society must reckon with the responsibility of protecting its people.

For those who hear, the lesson is twofold. First, do not take the ordinary for granted. Give thanks for the quiet and even the inconveniences, for they too are proof of life. Second, recognize the duty of citizenship: to stand against systems and habits that normalize unnecessary danger. Whether through advocacy, compassion, or the shaping of policy, one must not simply accept the blending of mosquitoes with bullets as equal inconveniences of life. One must work so that future generations can experience the precious banality of daily life without the shadow of terror.

Practical action flows from this wisdom: cherish your family dinners, even when delayed by traffic; be patient in airport lines, even when weary; laugh at the buzzing mosquito, even as you swat it away. But also, raise your voice for justice, for safety, for healing. Teach your children the sacredness of ordinary life and protect it fiercely. In this way, you honor both the humor and the sorrow of Hesse’s words, transforming them from lament into a call for change.

Thus, her reflection becomes timeless: that life is both fragile and sacred, that the ordinary is both ridiculous and precious, and that vigilance is required to safeguard what makes us human. Pass this wisdom on, so that one day the American experience—and the human experience—may be defined not by fear, but by gratitude, safety, and peace.