Today I came across an article that was, on its surface, about demographics. The author of the article--or blog post, really--apparently wrote a book in 2006 about declining birth rates worldwide, and the aging of the populace, and the consequences of these things. In large part, it was a post that I could agree with. And then, wrapping up, the author decided to bring his self-congratulation for getting it right years ago back to the present, and the pandemic [offensive phrasing removed]:
A final point: When I say that demography is "the single most important fact about the early 21st century", I mean it. As I've commented over the last year, it partially explains the fearful reaction to [the pandemic]. As I put it in [Book This Guy Wrote]:Aged societies, by their nature, are more cautious and less dynamic: old people weigh exposure to risk more than potential for gain.
And so since March 2020 we have prioritized "exposure to risk" over life itself. And for a year we walled up our dwindling number of young 'uns in small flats with no school chums, no stimulation, no physical activity: that's a society whose "assumptions" are old.
I don't know who this writer is or what his credentials are, and I don't care. It was an opinion article on the internet that happened to catch my attention because a friend on social media commented on his post. But this last takeaway gave me pause: that we have "prioritized 'exposure to risk' over life itself."
Now, for certain, this is a political posture. There are people whose opinions I respect who have said similar things, and who believe them. But this is a charge worth considering. What, in fact, does it mean to "prioritize 'exposure to risk' over life itself"? Frankly, what is "life itself"? There is an unstated assumption here (look at that rhetoric training!) that the author is asking us to buy into without thinking too much about it. But it's worth examining.
What people were asked to do for some or all of the last year, to differing degrees in different parts of the country (and let's not forget that the limitations on activities varied widely by state) or what they did for themselves because of their own sense of caution, was to curtail social activities and activities that seemed likely to encourage transmission of the virus. These might be work-related, celebrations, worship services, vacations, shopping, exercise... Activities that were more or less important, necessary, taken for granted, normal. It meant restrictions on what we wanted to do, what we usually do, what we often do (or did) without even thinking about it.
This exercise in self-restraint caused a heck of a lot of resentment. I'm not even going to make a judgment. It's a perfectly normal emotional reaction to a non-voluntary situation. And the degree of willingness to go along, the degree of resentment felt, had a lot to do with the risk-aversion of the particular person or people involved in the decision-making--whether personal or for a family unit. On the other hand, there were those who could not escape the situation because their particular employment forced some degree of engagement in social settings.
But is it fair to say that "life itself" was sacrificed?
In order to believe this, you have to believe that restaurants, vacations, and shopping constitute "life." I know that people also highlight their spiritual lives and their contact with loved ones. I also know that there were--imperfect, or inconvenient--ways to address these shortcomings. Not always, I know. And--again, imperfectly. But people who were determined to find a safe way to do things that were important to them often did. Others took risks. Others visited and quarantined for two weeks before. Some settled for experiences mediated by technology. There were, no doubt, essential elements of life that were stalled, curtailed, missed. Funerals. Births. Those life events that people come together to celebrate. I'm not talking about those things because those are not the things that most people were so eagerly jumping back into. When a birth or a funeral comes around again, it will be good to be able to be present. But getting back to normal mostly means going out and doing ordinary, daily activities that we previously took for granted. Many of these are related to commerce.
Many of the things I did not miss over the past year were commerce-related. I found after a while that I did not miss restaurants as much as I thought I would. It was a convenience I relied on too often, and often regretted in one way or another. My family didn't eat food from a restaurant for well over a year--and yes, I know that the virus wasn't food-borne. It was just something that I needed to do at the beginning to feel secure, and we just kept up with it. It certainly wasn't sacrificing "life itself." One huge thing I didn't miss was feeling like I should be doing something I wasn't. That I should be going somewhere--wherever it might be--because custom dictates that to fully experience a certain thing (indeed, "life itself") you have to go somewhere or do something more or less specific. I didn't miss the nagging feeling that because I didn't take the kinds of vacations that other people take to signify that they have stopped working for a time (however preoccupied with work they might happen to be) I was doing something wrong, or missing out somehow.
This isn't about me--it's cultural. We're fed the message constantly that there are simply certain things that people and families need to do to make memories or bond or indulge or relax or whatever. And not just by media. By co-workers who almost literally have to leave the country in order to take time off from work. By the people around us who have to go to Disney World every year. Who have to go on some vacation every year. Who believe that a child's summer vacation is wasted if that child hasn't done something over the summer. Teachers. Peers. Other parents. All of those expectations were suddenly--well, if not gone, then much, much quieter. The pandemic gave my children and I peace from others' expectations of what "life itself" means. Those messages are loud--to the degree that I was really feeling like I might need to take a fancy vacation in order to feel fulfilled. Which just goes to show how unfulfilled I had been feeling.
Now, I really want to go to a beach. And one day, I'd like to go to a really pretty beach, preferably with black sand. Because I love water and shorelines and particularly the movement of the waves when I'm suspended within them. But I was given a reprieve during which I could stop thinking for a while about whether that would ever be possible. There was no pressure to do in order to be. And yet, we absolutely did.
During the pandemic, we lived very much as I lived when I was growing up. My family didn't eat out often when we were growing up, and then it was usually hamburgers or chicken nuggets in bulk (not generally kid meals, which were too little food for too much money--although sometimes we did search the town for favored happy meal toys!). Also back in the day, we sometimes did take trips out of town, but they were never more than a day or two, and never at fancy hotels; most, in fact, were day trips. During the summer, I sometimes visited relatives for a week or so, but otherwise, we stayed home. I did a lot of reading. I did some crafts and drawing. I was never one for playing outside spontaneously or when there wasn't something specific to do, but we filled up little kiddie pools of varying size and played in them. We had toys that we played with. I did a lot of reading. (It bears repeating.) We largely stayed home. And really? There wasn't an expectation to do otherwise. I had a lot of friends who spent a lot of their time at home, even if they did spend a week in the summer on vacation or out of town somewhere, or, occasionally, at camp. To be clear, I didn't actively hang out with these friends during summer vacation, for the most part. I didn't avoid them, but that's how it was.
The pandemic did produce a lot of tension for us, no doubt. I started in an unfortunate place mentally, extremely risk-adverse because of a miscarriage and my husband's surgery to remove a slow-growing skin cancer. I'm still not entirely over the idea that my body is trying to kill me.
On the other hand, I know that we were extremely fortunate. Both my husband and I were able to work from home in the early days, which I continued throughout. We had work, and we did work. There were no break periods from work, because we were able to transition to working from home. No adjustment period while the workplace came to terms with it all.
We found, for this past school year, an excellent online school for my 7th and 9th grader that was not simply a school day conducted via video, but a challenging curriculum with excellent teachers that was enjoyable and eliminated many of the problems of "brick and mortar" school. My college student was able to have his classes online, though the education may have suffered somewhat (it's hard to tell with courses that were sort of half-baked anyway). And my life was pretty much changed by not having to spend hours shopping and by using curbside instead; I felt guilty at first, but reducing the number of people in the stores could only help with the safety of the workers. I plan to continue to use curbside shopping. I can't see that it's very different from when groceries used to be delivered; I simply work all day at a job instead of housework--and the housework still needs to be done. And often stays undone.
But while I was privileging safety over "life itself,"
- We started the pandemic with a Spring Break stay-cation, because I still needed a rest from the events of the beginning of the year and some time to spend in the (rental) house we moved into in August
- We took daily walks for much of 2020, which were were able to do mid-morning because of flexible school- and work-schedules
- We blew up an Aeropool that my 12yo didn't even know we had, and splashed and played with blow-up cacti and swim rings
- The girls tried out some baking, becoming comfortable making some tried-and-true recipes and trying out new ones
- One daughter sewed a plush Metroid for herself and one for her friend
- The other daughter taught herself to crochet with a scarf and filled the house with amigurumi; she's crocheting a cake as I type this
- I also taught myself to crochet with a scarf and made about 20 mandalas (think: colorful doily) of which I gave away the majority
- I participated in a summer crochet-a-long at my daughter's prompting, making summer-themed amiguriumi
- I made one crocheted blanket and started on another
- I made myself one dress, a skort for one daughter, and a shirt and a set of shorts-pajamas for each of them
- I drew a sketch of my work-at-home space, below
- We learned the names of several bird species that either live nearby or pass through seasonally
- We also learned the personalities of several types of birds, or what seem like personalities
- We watched a male red-bellied woodpecker nurture its baby
- My son became quite proficient at recognizing bird calls
- We had some adventures in gardening, including nurturing some succulents and cacti--sometimes even after a setback
- Two of us developed a fountain pen and ink collecting hobby, learning about different makes and nibs and inks (I'm just in it for pretty, shimmering colors) and sticking mainly to the lower end, "starter" pens, of which some are quite nice!
- We watched our very favorite non-media-personality bishop (I don't go in for media clergy) conduct mass weekly in a small retreat center chapel in an obscure corner of Texas, and were enriched by his words as we would not have been enriched by our local clergy
- I enrolled in a joint pain exercise therapy program offered by my workplace and virtually eliminated the severe hip pain I had been having, presumably from osteoarthritis, since October 2019 or so
- We watched movies together; we watched shows together; we learned about life on Tudor, Stuart, Victorian, Edwardian, and Wartime farms together
- We ate together; we laughed together; we talked together; sometimes we cried together
- I read some good books and some mediocre books
- I even wrote a couple of chapters of a book before giving up in something akin to despair... we'll see what happens with that.
We have done these things while exercising an abundance of caution--sacrificing the life we otherwise would have been living. I'm not inclined to think of it as a loss.
