Why settle for "Normal?"

Every time we do something….again…the way we used to…going to the symphony or the theater, bringing back traditions we’d set aside or modified in a pandemic at my school; dinner with a group of friends with whom we used to do that semi-regularly…I feel such a mix of feelings. “Ohhh…this feels good“ but I also feel a little sad. Sad for what we’ve lost, maybe? I go through this roller coaster ride of emotions. Each time. Music starts at the beginning of a concert, tears spring into my eyes and I want to cry and feel an outpouring of joy in the exact same moment. But what I won’t let myself say is “it feels so normal.”

I’ve been trying to write about what I think is wrong with “back to normal” for at least a year and every time I start, I stop, stuck because I think the concept of “normal” is a myth we tell ourselves.  Early on in this Covid world, I wrote about how “I just wanted to get back to normal,” or maybe even a “new normal.” That was my hope. I felt like if we could just get back to how life was in 2019 or create the perfect "new normal," then everything would be fine. But would it? 

I’m not so sure anymore. During that summer of 2020, as protests and racial unrest took hold throughout the country, I started recognizing that the “normal” I so desperately craved wasn’t so great for a good portion of our country. That one person’s normal is another person’s hard time. For so many people, they probably don’t want to go back to that normal where important discussions don't happen and we stop trying to fix the wrongs of the past. They want a normal where those aren't a thing. 

And as I thought more about it earlier this year, it occurred to me that the quest for "normal" comes at the expense of making needed and important change in so many areas of our lives. How schools operate. What’s important for the greater good. Dealing with hard things, such as poverty, hunger, shootings, race, women’s rights, gender roles, voting rights, a global pandemic. The very things that some people wish were "back to normal" could actually be improved upon in ways that could make things better for more of us than just some of us.

 I feel strongly that it was the urge to just “get back to normal” that’s made coming back from this pandemic so difficult. People who couldn’t see the greater good in distancing or masking or vaccinating and fought each mitigation effort so strongly, creating even bigger divisions. But the thing is…NONE of this was normal and there really is no "normal" to get back to anymore, I don’t think.

And now, as we get so excited about doing the things we used to do, we forget to step back and see if there’s a way we could improve on these things…put new systems in place. A perfect opportunity to reframe and retool is something we’re so quickly squandering before we even try, all at the expense of going “back to normal.” 

None of this is to say that I don’t want the things I (or we) missed so much to come back. Because that’s not what I’m saying, at all. As I sat listening to a live music performance in an intimate setting the other night, I was thinking about what I’ve written here and my feelings about returning to normal. The music washed over me...tears sprang to my eyes. Of course I want the things back. Traditions are important and matter greatly. 

And yet, there are so many traditions that we used to take for granted as “normal.” But we now know they’re so much more than that. They’re treasures to be enjoyed and are fragile reminders of things that can quickly and easily get lost or go away.  Traditions and "normal" aren't the same thing. And for me, I intend to never take any of these beloved traditions for granted again. 

Winston Churchill once said, “Perfection is the enemy of progress.” But if you ask me, I actually  think it’s "normal" that’s the “enemy of progress.” It’s hard to see the many ways we can improve things if all we want is to “get back to normal.” 

A year ago I didn't know...

Pandemics. Throughout history, they’ve tried to level full societies. And yet, in my 55 years, I've been privileged and insulated enough that it never really occurred to me that it was something that could happen in our time. How did we become so complacent that this happened? When this all started a year ago, there was so much I didn’t know.

A year ago I didn’t know...

• I didn’t know that it would take more than putting fever ridden people on a bed of ice to end a pandemic (After all, it worked for Doc Baker and Ma & Pa). In fact, I didn’t know that society crippling pandemics could be anything other than a thing of distant history or of far off places. And honestly? Everything I knew about pandemics before this year, I learned from LHOTP;

• I didn’t know that I could feel isolated, connected, lonely, happy, angry, bitter, joyful, unlikeable, sad,  loved, perfectly fine all in the span of an hour (or even less);

• I didn’t know that, for better or for worse, most every single thing that we could do in our culture could be moved to a virtual, online environment;

• I didn’t know that I could teach online and that, while online school will NEVER hold a torch to in-person, I was actually pretty okay at it. In fact, I'm pretty sure I’ll keep recording my lessons and mini lessons going forward. Lessons that took 30-40 or more minutes with interruptions, can be delivered in 10. The way I see it, in a 45 minute class, or better, a double blocked 90 minute one, kids will have more time to work on projects...more time to communicate and collaborate...be productive. I've learned so many new ways to freshen up and improve on my classes and that’s a good outcome of this year;

• I didn’t know I could cook dinner almost every night of every week, with planned menus, and not only enjoy it, but not really want to go back to the routine we had before, which included lots of eating out and not terribly healthy ways of eating. That's also a good outcome of this year;

• I didn’t know that the “normal” I thought I missed so much was probably something that doesn't really exist outside of our memories or imagination and maybe even something I don’t think we should be striving for. I think we can do better than "back to normal." It really wasn't that great for many and we have an awful lot of work to do to make "normal" good for others outside of just ourselves. And I didn’t know that I could ever have such a visceral reaction to the expression, “the new normal.” Maybe what we mean when we say “a return to normalcy” is really a more ordered, calm, predictable, less chaotic life? Who wouldn't want that? (More on this in follow-up upcoming blog post. Maybe. If I get it out of my head and write it);

• I didn’t know that creativity and love and relationships and connection are so vital to a healthy society that they could actually help save it from collapse under the weight of all the heaviness (actually, I did know this...but now it’s more clear than ever before), or that art and creation are so needed to keep us healthy. I don't think stimulus money was wasted on the arts. Aside from the really small percentage that was allotted there, their industry was hit incredibly hard by all this. AND, content creators and artists stepped up in such a big way when this all began a year ago...how many of us watched free live-streamed concerts from performers' living rooms, or how many of our kids had stories read to them by celebrities or took online drawing lessons from them?;

• I didn’t know that a simple piece of cloth could be such a symbolic reminder of the many things that divide us;

• I didn’t know that public health concerns could be so politicized that entire groups of humans could make choices that could ultimately not just bring themselves and their own families down, but entire communities worth of people, all in the name of “not living in fear” or "giving up freedom" while at the same time being okay with others not having the same freedom;

• I didn’t know that I, an extrovert, could actually enjoy, and maybe even prefer, the quiet life of being at home with the people I love most in the world. The greatest gift of this year (for me) was time with my family and the months that my adult children have been/were home with us (something I'd never expected to have again);

• I didn’t know that, at the same time, I could miss time with friends so deeply that it legit hurts, but not really know how to fix it;

• I didn't know "Pandemic pets" were really a thing. Until I got one, and that's another good outcome of this year;

• I didn’t know that, while relief and thankful to scientists were the things I would most feel upon getting vaccinated against this virus, I would also feel pretty uncomfortable even just thinking about what it looks like to move into this next phase of pandemic life. What to keep, what to ditch, what matters;

• 
  I didn't know what happens next. I still don't. I mean, this all seemingly came from out of nowhere to begin with: One day on the news, there was a strange virus that appeared on our shores. The next, we were stocking up on toilet paper and staying home. "I don't understand what's going on," I thought at the time. "What do you mean we're closing schools and everything is stopping? It doesn't even make sense." Now, just over a year later, it's not really ending, but it sort of kind of is? But it isn't? And while so many of us are getting vaccinated, we're being warned to not let our guards down and of fourth waves and mutating variants and countries in Europe going back into lockdown. Past pandemics lasted 2 or more years. We've been doing this for a year. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but in some ways, I envisioned it being like when bears and other animals come out of hibernation in animal documentaries: Like a great scene change...Spring flowers blossom, beautiful music plays and critters start to appear in the sunshine. But that's not really what this is like. This is more like this "in between" world where it's hard to know what the "right" or "safe" thing to do is and it maybe feels more comfortable to just stay put for now.
  
  

A year ago, when we went into our lockdown mode, in the beginning, it seemed like a break from life as we knew it. There was a sense of “we’re all in this together.” That didn’t really last. I guess it really wasn’t sustainable. Trauma and pain bring out different things in different people. And each hurt that feels so terrible and personal to me feels just as terrible and personal to the next person and so on.

I wonder what sociologists and historians will conclude about this time as they study us in future years. Will they talk about the parts that brought us together? The parts that drove us apart? What broke us? Will they talk about how the people who complained most vocally about “not living in fear” or “giving up their freedoms” were the ones who never really gave up that much, anyway? Will the time coming out of this feel hopeful, joyful, free? 20 years from now, how will we talk about this time? What will the kids who did school the way they've done it this year say? 

I keep coming back to that poem by Kitty O'Meara that went around this time last year and its closing stanza: "And when the danger passed, and the people joined together again, they grieved their losses, and made new choices, and dreamed new images, and created new ways to live and heal the earth fully, as they had been healed." This is my wish and hope, too.

So many feelings on an historic day

So many feelings. Like this dark cloud that’s been hanging over our heads and maybe that cloud budged just a little bit today. My heart’s been so heavy with worry lately: for friends, for our country, just an incessant, nagging worry for so long, and has felt even heavier the past few weeks. I woke up this morning and one of my first thoughts after, "It's my husband's birthday!" was, "Oh! A woman is going to be sworn in as Vice President today!" Not just a woman, but a woman of color!

How amazing that this truly historic milestone has almost largely been overshadowed by all the other…stuff. But OMG, a woman is now VP! From passage of the 15th Amendment in 1870, to women jailed for demanding the right to vote just over a hundred years ago, to the Voting Rights Act in 1965, the year I was born. And today, a woman, whose ancestors would not have been permitted to vote, has become Vice President of the US. Chills as she was sworn in. Tears as J-Lo sang “This Land is Your Land.”

And tonight, for me, maybe things feel a little bit more hopeful. We’re still in a pandemic. People are still dying. People are still hurting. People are still sick. People are still angry at others. It would be naive and probably misguided to think things will magically get better right away. Not when so many believe the lies they’ve been fed, that this isn’t legitimate and will fight against change and progress that’s coming.

But if you listened to the words of President Biden, you heard the call for unity. “And together, we shall write an American story of hope, not fear. Of unity, not division. Of light, not darkness. An American story of decency and dignity. Of love and of healing. Of greatness and of goodness,” he said. 

 

Or the beautiful, wise words of 22-year-old Poet Laureate Amanda Gorman, with her call for healing. “We’ve learned that quiet isn’t always peace, and the norms and notions of what “just” is isn’t always justice.

And yet the dawn is ours before we knew it.

Somehow we do it.

Somehow we weathered and witnessed a nation that isn’t broken, but simply unfinished,” she said., “For there is always light, if only we’re brave enough to see it.

If only we’re brave enough to be it.” (full speech and text here)

These ideals are what I want to hang my hat on for now. That there is light, that the dark cloud will start to get smaller, that the glass ceiling for women shattered and that it’s even okay to feel a little bit hopeful.