Exile at Home
Eileen Manion
“As time went on, fatigue set in even among those
who had complied to begin with.
Not only were the measures preventing them from
going about their normal lives,
but their efficacy seemed to be patchy at best.”
Laura Spinny, Pale Rider: The Spanish Flu of 1918
and How It Changed the World
Home is beginning to feel like a foreign country, as daily life requires the constant adaptations we make when traveling.
Am I getting this right? I wonder as I stand in the middle of the newly painted circle, waiting my turn. I check my mask to make sure it’s not about to fall off, but no — I’m not supposed to touch it.
Then trying to convey my needs to the person behind the newly installed Plexiglas barrier who’s also masked is not easy. What did she say? Is she speaking French or English?
Feeling slightly off balance, I note the tension rise in my back, my neck.
The sense that nothing is familiar, that we are estranged from our environment, may be one unrecognized source of pandemic fatigue.
I’ve been trying out a few retail experiences that seemed routine before the pandemic. Going into the drug store, and stopping at the enormous bottle of hand sanitizer, I couldn’t help thinking of dipping my hand into the holy water bowl, making the sign of the cross as I entered a Catholic church.
To get into my neighborhood grocery store, I have to line up outside. Like waiting for communion. In summer this is not so bad, but in winter, it will be a hardship.
How many such things are necessary? How many are rituals of security — like saying novenas as I did in high school to ensure good grades?
Hard to say as we massage our anxiety on a daily basis
In addition, every relationship has to be renegotiated. Some friends will go for a walk with me; some will eat with me as long as it’s outdoors. Others will only meet on Zoom.
New boundaries are emerging; crossing them can lead to misunderstandings or insults. “We can meet for a chat outside, but you can’t ride in my car,” one friend recently announced.
Familiar rites — like blowing out the candles on your birthday cake — have suddenly become dangerous virus spreaders.
Any encounter requires so much diplomatic discussion beforehand in order to avoid giving offense. Sometimes I wonder: is this worth the effort?
The pandemic also offers us new reasons to be intolerant of others’ behavior — he’s not wearing a mask; she’s not moving far enough away to keep 2 meters between us.
And it has given permission to openly stigmatize older people — some of whom have been told to just stay home, as if they have no right to be in public space.
So many new opportunities have arisen to define ourselves in relation to others as the shifty nature of the corona virus puts us constantly on edge.
All the uncertainties make us desire to assert control wherever we can — often over those closest to us. I’ve heard stories of husbands who try to keep their wives from leaving the house, supposedly to protect them from exposure.
We constantly ask ourselves and one another: what is safe, what is too risky?
“Do you feel safe here?” my doctor asked when I visited him at the CLSC recently. There were hardly any other patients in the waiting room; all the staff were wearing masks, and a young man constantly circulated disinfecting every surface in sight.
What “feels safe” for some seems risky to others. People now can eat at restaurants — some choose to do so; others will eat only on an outdoor terrace; others won’t do that but will order take-out; and some will eat only food they’ve cooked themselves.
What about getting a haircut? Visiting the dentist? What used to be routine now requires the kind of planning we do for a trip abroad.
Every day there seem to be new refinements on how the virus can be transmitted, who is most/ least likely to spread it; who is most at risk.
Recently we’ve been warned about super-spreader events such as parties or funerals.
Just keeping up with the warnings feels like a full-time job.
How can we make sense of all this information and decide what’s “safe” and what’s risky without succumbing to pandemic fatigue?
We might like to think that public health authorities are making the right decisions, but since the pandemic has revealed so many instances of mismanagement — nursing homes are the most egregious example — we have little reason for trust.
We all have our own ways of protecting ourselves, and some — like wearing masks in indoor public spaces — have become mandatory.
However, rigid adherence to rules, shaming others on social media, and magical thinking will not necessarily save us from infection.
And besides Covid-19, there are other dangers to consider: isolation; depression; chronic anxiety; insomnia. Not to mention the reluctance to seek treatment for other problems due to fear of hospitals and clinics.
Estrangement in art — as in the plays of Bertolt Brecht — forces us to look at the familiar in new ways, producing insight. This may account for many of the current protests against racism — which has been with us, but has acquired new visibility.
But these efforts are exhausting. And that can lead to a loss of vigilance.
Will we ever be able to return from this journey to the city we left in March?
The so-called Spanish flu was so devastating that there seemed to be a collective forgetting or repression afterwards. No one discussed it for decades. Only recently have there been careful studies of its global reach, like Laura Spinny’s book, Pale Rider.
Relegating earlier pandemics to the memory hole has not only increased our vulnerability, but also has made it more difficult to recognize the scope of the problem and work toward collective ways to deal with it.
Today, even in the most ordinary situations, we can’t take anything for granted.
Maybe this has benefits — we’re forced to be mindful, more attentive to our relationships and our actions. We need to keep constantly alert, as we do when we travel.
And travel can make us feel more alive, more present to ourselves.
Perhaps this experience can also.
