Even for us who haven’t contracted COVID or whose families have been somehow unscathed, 2020 was a lost year. I struggle to not mourn the loss of familiar routines and pastimes when so many have been infected, or worse, lost loved ones in the pandemic, but sometimes I backslide. The six-week winter break has begun, the first sustained period off work since we went to remote instruction, leaving me time to ruminate on the situation.
I began the year with a small irony. On New Year’s Eve, the day China reported its first COVID cases to the World Health Organization, I was on a flight from Hong Kong to San Francisco. I had spent the previous week in Hong Kong and Macau, sightseeing and eating dim sum. Many of the people I saw wore face masks, but it really didn’t register since it was East Asia in the wintertime and masking is a common practice.
I think I started noticing the news reports toward the end of January. Spring semester began, and I was engrossed in work. The pandemic cropped up periodically in conversation as the weeks went on. A few people began wearing face coverings here and there. News reports told of mass lockdowns in China and police checkpoints in Italy, but it still seemed so far away, so unreal.
As February gave way to March, you began to see large containers of hand sanitizer in classrooms, offices, and public areas on campus. There were exhortations to wash hands frequently. Finally, word came down that we were going to remote instruction. We were given about ten days to make the transition, and the administration predicted we might be able to return before the end of the term. I took the news in stride and didn’t change my routine. When the appointed day arrived, I taught my scheduled classes and went home. And have stayed there ever since.
I am not proud of my complacency; I am puzzled by it. I’m normally alarmed by news of disasters on the doorstep, but in this case I carried on nonetheless. Looking back, I am fortunate to not have been infected or infected someone else. The widespread resistance to mask mandates even as infection rates are again skyrocketing beggars explanation.
For me 2020 bears an eerie parallel to another lost year, 2000. The main difference is that 2000 was lost to me and this year was lost to us all. The two years have a lot in common, though, a controversial presidential election being the most prominent feature. In my case, I spent that year socially distancing by default. I was recovering from a near-fatal accident that left me permanently disabled, I was facing the loss of my career as a consequence, and my marriage was imploding. I was hundreds of miles from home in a military hospital temporarily housed in a bare room in a soon to be demolished annex while my family stayed behind. Then as now, tedium and anxiety over an uncertain future stalked my thoughts.
Given a choice, I would take this year over that. I am reasonably healthy now, and the prospect of going broke is not a concern at the moment. The continuous nausea and lack of appetite from the morphine prescribed for my pain aren’t an issue, nor do feelings of malaise keep me in bed some days. My biggest headaches are technical glitches. If I get cabin fever, I can always go for a walk and come back feeling renewed.
It’s the uncertainty that’s the worst aspect of the pandemic aside from the disease itself. What will work and school look like after? Will travel at home or abroad ever be safe? Can we even socialize normally after this? Anthony Fauci summed it up for many when recently told an interviewer the thing he looks forward to most is dropping by a bar for a beer and a burger. That likely won’t happen anytime soon. I’m still leery of circulating in public unless it’s necessary. A few months ago, I thought about marking the anniversary of my accident as I normally do. I made a dinner reservation at a place with outdoor seating. As the reservation time grew closer, I began to question the wisdom of going out. I cancelled and spent the evening in. No point taking unnecessary risks.
Signals are mixed as to how the future plays out. Hope and dread don’t settle well with each other, but it’s the prevailing sentiment. On a conference call with higher education administrators, Dr. Fauci said last week that with widespread immunization students and professors could return to the physical classroom as soon as fall semester 2021. Then again, there is ominous news of a new mutation of SARS CoV-2 running amok in southeastern Britain which has led a number of EU countries to bar British visitors. Even as I write, reports of yet another mutation in China are making the rounds.
Nevertheless, the pandemic will subside at some point. There remains the matter of preexisting ills exacerbated by the crisis. Social division and a slide toward outright violent conflict won’t miraculously subside just because Donald Trump is leaving office. We’ve arrived at a point where we are incapable of living together. The last four tears, and this year in particular, have pulled back the screen to reveal us as a fragmented people seething with hatred and resentment. I don’t think there is any turning back; the damage is permanent. We’ll return to a form of surface normalcy, but the dysfunction will persist underneath.
© 2020 The Unassuming Scholar
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