Suffering and Smiling
Photo by Mika Baumeister on Unsplash
At 12:01 AM on Thursday, April 8, 2021, Ontario entered its third stay-at-home order since the start of the COVID-19 pandemic. After reading the details of the order to my younger sister, we shared a familiar look of horror and mild amusement. With near-telepathic synchronicity, we began to sing the words of the great poet Mercury Fredrick, “Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?” Then, we laughed.
I am not thrilled about this latest lockdown but I am not crushed by it either. I am dismayed that the final years of my twenties are seemingly being wasted away, locked in my apartment like Rapunzel (minus the long hair and the handsome prince). I have no thrilling adventures or passionate romances to speak of. Another chance at a Hot Girl Summer is likely gone.
And yet…what is more thrilling than living through the global trauma of a sinister pandemic? I saw a woman wearing a full hazmat suit at the grocery store last week. Vaccines, immunity and variants are regular themes in most of my conversations. It feels like I am living in an extremely long sci-fi movie.
There is a lot about pre-pandemic life that I desperately miss. Sitting inside a coffee shop pretending to read a book while eavesdropping on the couple sitting across from me (eavesdropping is not rude, it’s just letting my ears do what they do). I miss the yearly agony of figuring out where we’ll go for our family vacation. At the beginning of 2020 we decided to write down different cities on scraps of paper and pull one out of a hat. Then we argued about the city we pulled for another 2 weeks. I miss flipping through a hymnal as the congregation stands to sing in unison, gliding into unwritten harmonies and ad-libs. I miss hugs from church members I haven’t seen in ages and deliberating on where to get French Fries in the food court. I miss the feeling of possibility. The freedom of being able to go anywhere and do anything.
To miss these things alone is a great privilege. Many others miss loved ones whose lives have been cut short by an arrogantly destructive virus. Patients in ICU beds miss being able to breathe without a tube rammed down their throat. Small business owners and those who have lost their sources of income miss not having to choose between rent and groceries. I am not a fan of using someone else’s misery as a conduit for my own gratitude but as I hear stories of profound loss, grief and fear I can’t help but realize how good I have it.
So I won’t be picketing in front of Doug Ford’s house but I won’t be sending him flowers either. I am not convinced that staying at home is truly what we need to get through this pandemic but I do not feel safe enough to run back to life as normal. I am tired, frustrated and anxious but I am also hopeful and determine to get through this.
The human mind is allergic to paradox; the ability of two seemingly opposite things to be true at the same time. Not allergic to the point of death but to the point of severe irritation. It is easier for the brain to process information by diving it into categories, so we tend to force ourselves and others onto sides. You are either for the lockdown or against it. You are either hopelessly depressed or annoyingly happy. You are either right or wrong. Opinions are good. Arguing passionately for a particular angle is good. But, in something as complex and nuanced as a year-long global-pandemic, I can’t help but feel that we lose more than we gain when we rush too quickly to our neat categories.
There is more meaning to be gained in the mess of paradox than in the comfort of extremes. The in-between gives us a place to truly see and hear each other. We can see and hear each other’s grievances, fears and hopes. We can be okay and not okay at the same time and we can be that together. Our complexity is what sets us apart from the rest of creation so we should revel in it.
It is a horribly glorious and depressingly purposeful time to be alive. This is real living.
