It wasn’t the extremes of pandemic shutdowns that were deflating, it was the diminished horizons of the new normal that seemed to be the most draining.
I hope that during all of this, we’ve learned something, both about ourselves and about others.
During the first round of the pandemic shutdowns — because I actually believe that more shutdowns are coming, should an effective vaccine for COVID-19 not be found and distributed quickly — we had an ample opportunity to realize a lot.
For me, it was that you can get a surfeit of alone — even though alone is something I often enjoy, you can become downright bizarre without regular interactions with other human beings.
The funny part is that it’s been a peculiar crumbling: I started out strong, launching all sorts of projects, including continuing the longest spell of physical activity I’ve done in years.
Not only did projects get done, I felt that I’d at least gotten myself in good enough shape to face the prospect of COVID-19, which is clearly a serious illness, I started new writing projects. I was busy — very busy.
But as time went on, the air started coming out of the tire. I’m not sure when, really. I mean, at first, when COVID-19 was truly scary, you couldn’t escape experiencing a bit of fatalism: why do anything if COVID’s right at the door?
But that immediate fatalism changed as the tighter parts of the lockdown loosened — it was replaced, gradually, by something else again.
There’s clearly a lesson to be learned from that: part of it, no doubt, is that life is for living. That we should make the most of the moments we have, because they may just be moments: horizons can shrink, and they have done exactly that.
It wasn’t the extremes of pandemic shutdowns that were deflating, it was the diminished horizons of the new normal that seemed to be the most draining.
Right now, I’m happy to simply get through my workday. Everything else just looks exhausting. For example, I like to cook and take great joy in it, finding new things and trying them: now, it’s simple, fast and I frankly don’t care what I’m eating.
I’m not alone in this: I know from social media that plenty of productive, thoughtful creative people now have their wheels spinning in the mud.
There’s clearly a lesson to be learned from that: part of it, no doubt, is that life is for living. That we should make the most of the moments we have, because they may just be moments: horizons can shrink, and they have done exactly that.
The other thing we really should be taking from pandemic times is that it doesn’t matter how much of an individualist you are: few of us are in any way equipped to manage strictly on our own.
Unless you’re a skilled, off-the-grid homesteader, you’re not equipped to make even a month without the support of community.
And being part of the community means protecting that community. As I tweeted in frustration halfway through August, “Hey, you don’t have to wear a mask. Just stay home out of it. Completely. Can’t be part of a community? Don’t be.”
Because there is an implicit compact here: community isn’t just a service that you pay for with municipal taxes.
It is a co-operative venture that involves all of us taking part.
For years, I’ve felt like I’ve been watching the concept of community decay: we’ve gone from an interdependent world to one that now focuses on the primacy of selfishness over everything else: more and more, we seem to celebrate, at best, the individual islands of “family first.” Our responsibility, it seems, is to those near and dear to us, and no one else. It ends at our property lines.
Volunteer fire departments and other community organizations have trouble getting volunteers: often, those who are volunteering are measurably older than they have been in years past.
I hope the pandemic teaches us that we’re all in this together, or else, in dark times, we’ll be very, very much alone.
Yes, we have personal rights — but with those rights come community responsibilities.
You can stay in a small house or a small room yelling “me, me, me, my rights” at the four walls for as long as you like. But you’ll be yelling alone.
If we end up having to do this again, if a lockdown returns, we can do it better.
And even if it doesn’t, we all know more about ourselves now — for better or for worse — than we did before.
Russell Wangersky’s column appears in SaltWire newspapers and websites across Atlantic Canada. He can be reached at [email protected] — Twitter: @wangersky.