Remember the watch-phrase that got sent past us after 9/11? "Go shopping," we were told.
That's to ensure that people didn't become so paranoid of terrorist attacks that the economy didn't go into the tank. That would prove, I would guess, that America could bounce back strong and undaunted.
As far as that went, it worked for a while. But the economy did go into the tank under the same president that encouraged us to keep shopping, and it took the better part of the next decade to pull us out.
Spending money demonstrates that you aren't afraid to go to the store. Maybe. Shopping online increased, and many go-to department stores went under. The ease with which we can now do pretty much everything electronically instead of stepping outside our homes has saved us, and condemned us at the same time.
Certainly, millions are now alive who could easily be dead by now because they could get things delivered during the height of the pandemic, that time during 2020 when the deadly virus was being spread willy-nilly without arrest. Many even got their groceries delivered, hankering back to a time when that was done within neighborhoods and accepted as such.
After having read that 48 hours was required to make a delivery sufficiently safe to handle, I always left something sent to me out in the lobby of my apartment building to make sure of that. If it was dropped at my door anyhow, I brought it in with the end of a broom and left it somewhere other than an area in which I normally walked inside my apartment. I had to be very careful since I was only two years past open heart surgery and in that age group where Covid killed far more easily.
I made it. I'm still around. But it's not the same as before. Not close.
There is an inertia about us that won't be easily dissolved. There is also a lingering distrust implanted, partially, by ex- and his rantings. But that mistrust was, in a sense, already there. He just accelerated it.
Many of us preferred to be alone before Covid, not lonely because we were in control over when we would and wouldn't interact with others. Then we went into self-created home monasteries because we were forced into it. Nobody was used to that. The restriction, once voluntary, was felt deeply. Add to that the maddening, mystifying inclination of some to continue to resist vaccination--who has died from it, please show me--and one cannot easily trust anyone else to care enough about us to foster normal, human care.
A world in which all are out for themselves eventually deteriorates and deep inside, we all know that. So we cannot be totally free again to go outside, risking the discomfort if not the devastation of Covid. The next person may still be crazy enough to reject what just about everyone should have sought two years ago. You can live, as I do, in a part of a big city in which it is likely that everyone, or nearly everyone, has wised up enough to exert enough control over their lives to have had their shots, but nearly everyone is not everyone, and chance has a way of hovering over us all.
I've had all five shots now. I rarely wear a mask. But I still do where I'm not familiar with the clientele. When I see people with masks, I assume that, ridiculously, they haven't had their shots yet. And I keep one, at least, in my outer clothing just in case I think that problem may suddenly emerge.
I've no doubt that others feel the same way. Going shopping, then, doesn't solve the problem of loneliness. Loneliness is the handmaiden of distrust. If I'm not sure about you, I must pull back from getting to know you, even having the lightest conversation because I'm not sure that you won't spray the virus all over me (even though we've been told that 15 minutes is the likely length of time we need to be proximate to someone for it to attach to us, and the culturally locked-in six feet, which I find hard to believe, too). I cannot form a friendship, cannot plan to have coffee some time, cannot even have but the briefest of conversations.
My world cannot expand. I need to care more for your politics than I want to, too. I know that the 'other side' is inclined, for some unfathomable reason, not to trust vaccination. Knowing that creates a wall that must remain as impenetrable as possible, even after all this time and the angst it has caused.
Remember: Those who have caught the virus can still spread it. Even I can spread it even though I've been maximally vaccinated, though the odds are quite low. I cannot enjoy those people, were it ever possible. I cannot laugh with them. I cannot look forward to another random interaction with someone. We all lose when that happens, and we lose every day.
The best gift we can give ourselves for Christmas or Hanukkah or Kwanza this year is the assurance that we have had our shots. We can gather with confidence. We can renew faith in each other. This can be done not only with family, but with friends. I had a long conversation with someone not long ago, and one of the first things we did was to reassure each other than we've had the five shots that constitute the maximum protection. Beyond that, nobody still knows anything about this insidious invader, but it's easier to hedge your bets at least.
We need to do this. Our world is becoming unreachably isolated. The knowledge of even the slightest support for our common humanity is what propels us to join groups and feel a sense of belonging to them. It is more than fun. It is vital.
The next time you go shopping, whether in observance of the holiday season or not, glance at the faces of those others in the store. They don't smile much. They go shopping, which supports the economy, but they aren't happy about it. They want to get it over with and get back home, where they're safe. That is not a good world to live in, a world without joy.
I go for walks if the weather cooperates. I remind myself to smile if I pass someone going in the other direction. Knowing someone else can smile is its own little gift.
It may not sound like much, but something shared can be inspiring. I went to the Shorewood Public Library yesterday for a talk on books people might like to give someone else for Christmas. The place was packed. Most people didn't wear masks, and were fairly close to my age. Everyone smiled. We are hungering for contact, for fellow feeling, for joy. We want to know that connections aren't that remote anymore.
Yes, some of us bought books, so "going shopping" was part of the point. But gifting was the main point, gifting and sharing and talking about books and expanding the mind. 20% of what we spent went to charitable causes, so there was that, too. That is a deeper expression of our humanity.
I felt better all day, renewed, refreshed. Here's hoping there will be more throughout the Christmas season, and especially beyond.
Be well. Be careful. With some luck, I'll see you down the road.
Mister Mark
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