History: Can it Help?

We know that history can sometimes show us the way into the future. I don’t think it has all the answers but in the vacuum that’s opened up thanks to this virus, it’s comforting to look back in order to know what may come. I’m not the only one who’s thinking about this. It’s not so much believing the theory that soothes me but a more reptilian knowledge, a kind of pulse in some dark recess of my mind that knows everything changes. Everything. This includes the good, the bad, the tragic, the lack of a vaccine. It’s all up for grabs and this knowledge scares me, along with the inherent helplessness as this unforeseen event crashes into our lives. And the only comfort with this outsized anxiety is I’m not alone with it. I’m not the only one who’s suffering this.

What is so strange is nothing looks wrong. Our optic nerve tells us that all is well but our minds have to re-calibrate the signal in the milliseconds of receiving it. It messes with millennia of evolution. This virus is fucking not just with our lungs but also our visual cortex. For most of us, we’re being asked to imagine the unseen is real and life threatening. That’s a no-brainer if you’re a front line worker and the devastation is there in technicolor horror but for us schlubs in the suburbs, it’s taking longer to hit home. We walk our dogs, we wave hello to people out exercising, the FedEx guy delivers, the city still collects our trash. Wait, what?! There’s a pandemic? I can almost sympathize with the nutters waving their guns outside the State Capitol in Michigan and demanding their civil liberties. (Actually I can’t and that’s a whole other post.)

I grapple with this ‘unseeing’ when what I really want to do is accept the non visual cues and adjust accordingly. I want to make like Giovanni Boccaccio, retreat to my villa, gather my nearest and dearest close and ride this out with lashings of vino, pasta, story telling and siestas. I want that visceral knowledge of this plague to drive me into a doing of some description. And there were opportunities. I could’ve booked a ticket on one of the last flights out of Austin to Australia, ridden the virus out on Sydney harbour and with a healthcare safety net to boot. I could’ve anticipated there’d be a run on sewing machines and ordered one in time to make masks. I could’ve heeded the early reporting and put a stop to our profligate spending on our garden, knowing that a temporary reduction in salary (at best) was coming my way. Nuh uh. I did none of these things.

I’m being glib of course. I don’t want to be back to Australia. To return home would be a dereliction of duty in its own way. My life is here, I don’t want to be that person who bolts when the shit starts to get real. And anyway, YouTube have so many videos on how-to-make-a-mask-from-a-tshirt that buying the Husqvarna is only an excuse for more online shopping. And our garden is thanking us for the cash we’ve already chucked at it to date. And even as the pathogen wrecks havoc, at least spring has brought the gorgeous, creamy aroma of jasmine and the anticipation of the first flowering of our redbud. And yes, we are those insufferable people who has the luxury of literally smelling the roses while Rome burns.