Again, I start with the caveats: this may never go anywhere and I can't reply to comments made on this latest version of Blogger. That written, I'm just diving in this time.
Like a lot of people who are aging, there is less and less I see in the world that I recognize. This is an across the board thing. Conventions, behaviors, linguistic traits and most of all it's apparent in the ways we treat each other. Bereft of so much people used to do for fun and distraction, there are so many shifts in how we see. Central to this, if you'll pardon the expression is how we are seeing ourselves and the importance we place on our individual circumstances.
Years ago when people stopped saying goodbye at the end of a phone call, it rankled. It utterly perplexed me. Two syllables. Even just one. Yet, this had become too much. Unimportant. It isn't that I'm comfortable with it now, but I accept that it's the new norm.
When 17 new pronouns appeared in the English language, I absolutely understood their significance but I could not assimilate them. Consequently, even though I saw it coming for decades, I am having a very hard time with they and them being used to represent an individual.
Such is life. Not good. Not bad. It just... is. It's more important for the current generation and those that follow to know how to navigate the world. People like me have less and less place in it, so I don't expect my values to carry forward. As much as I've been an anachronism, I am fast becoming obsolete. There is still some I can contribute, and I'm glad for that, but I know it's diminishing.
I'm not sentimental about this. I'm certainly not morose.
So it's not likely a surprise that my existence turns more and more inward. I interact less with everyone around me. My yearning for anything social, in real life or online, diminishes. I was invisible before I wore a mask. If I hear my name spoken aloud twice in a month it's an absolute fluke. I don't have any expectation for it but it's nothing I imagined would happen.
Of course the flip-side of that is how many lovely and wonderful things that have happened that I could never have anticipated. Not the massive ones nor the silly little ones. Hell, I never could have predicted I would live this long.
Then why does it drive me crazy that everyone is so self-involved? It isn't that I'm waiting for the next Mother Teresa or Buddha. But in a time when so many people are suffering, enough self-awareness to step outside of our individual situations and check on those around us.
Mind you, I'm not elevating myself in this context. I reached out to friends and family for the first four months of lockdown, but since March I can count on one hand with fingers left over the number of people who have done the same. At least until my father died in July.
This wasn't really a blindsiding event. Those of us who had seen him over the last years saw a decline on many levels. The man who had joked for so long about living to 120 intimated more and more that he had made his peace with what he knew was coming. But that doesn't mean everyone knew it and even some who were told it was coming didn't take the caution to heart. So there was a wave of people who needed to talk and be heard, and I was happy to be someone who did. I am honored to have been that.
Consequently there was a definite point when I just pulled into myself, when I stopped making the calls or sending the emails or texts. I just couldn't read any more posts about how hard it was not to be able to get a haircut or that it was just so strange to wear sweats or pajamas all the time. I do have empathy for people. I really do. But the first thing I thought when the realities of COVID-19 began to emerge was what the hell are the homeless going to do? 6 months in and I still haven't heard anyone talking about this.
As someone who chose a solitary way, my life hasn't changed in the way most people's have. But that does give me a slightly different perspective on things. The realities of being denied luxury and convenience have their impact. We feel these emotionally, intellectually and psychologically. A part of this is the inclination to pull in, to simmer in our subjectivity. This is even the case when hearing about what is going on around us. But the desire to be acknowledged, just to be asked how we are or to know someone is thinking about us, is huge.
It's expecting that to happen when we aren't willing to take that step that creates the ethical friction for me. It's another form of entitlement. And it can be sidestepped by simply stopping for a few seconds and realizing that we all have the power to reach out, to give someone the feelings we so desperately crave. It's not hard. It really isn't. But it does require subverting our self-pity long enough to text, call or email. Even though the postal system is completely overloaded, we can still send cards or letters.
My equilibrium will return. The fire raging on the mountain will run its course. The grieving will start to make their peace. I'll go back to reaching out. I may even pop back up on social media. But until then, I hope people can stop feeling sorry for themselves, driving like they're insane or choosing to and act solipsistically. Or at least take a step back and maybe think that others are going through what they are. Some are going through much more.
