Half Won’t Come Back
Half of the world is not going back to normal. Whatever ‘normal’ was.
Half of the world has settled into Zoom calls, to staying at home, to doing laundry infrequently, to reading more and commuting less. Half of the world doesn’t want to pay for overpriced drinks anymore.
Half of us are fine with seeing a few choice people, intentionally, with a calendar appointment, and without the din and ruckus of people you didn’t intend to see, nor have little interest in tolerating. That may sound like the end of “society,” the end of a place we adapted to out of necessity, rather than cultivated out of our ideals of what we value.
Half of us are ‘ok’ with cooking at home, as much as we were ‘ok’ with eating out. And being drawn out of this predictable shell isn’t going to occur with the previous attractions. It’ll have to be tacitly better than it was, to break this inertia. Half of us don’t really care if half of what was around before isn’t anymore.
Half of us don’t care if your favorite bar or restaurant doesn’t exist anymore. We didn’t go there because we liked it, we went there to be with you, because you thought it was so special, because you thought being there meant something, but we think now it’s clear to you as much as it was to us back then, that the meant something was more about you than that place. We’ve adapted to this new you, and maybe you’re settling into the new you, also.
Half of us are employed and ‘ok’ and even some of that same half were unemployed before and ‘ok’ now. Whatever ‘ok’ is. One less thing to worry about? Is that ‘ok’ these days? Some of us who are employed actually hate our job, and hated it before, and hate it now and wake up telling ourselves that we’re supposed to feel grateful to have a source of income when another half is in a breadline, but what’s missing here is a clear demarcation when waiting in the breadline is better than continuing with something you hate, and the absence of that clarity means that chance is the next best thing, but even that is wishful thinking.
Half left and aren’t coming back, some got better jobs or home or families or friends elsewhere, others never had good jobs or homes or families or friends in the first place, which was this place, which was ‘normal.’ Which half cared about them, back then? Sounds like musical chairs played by the deaf, with half having the ear against the ground, counting the rhythm, and half tired of playing and sitting through the rounds. And then the music just stopped.
Half of us have seen the quantifiable difference of going without the half that we’re not going with anymore. The skies are clearer, the pollution is receding and the idea that everyone has to do everything all the time was never something we really cared for and simpler things were what stayed at our core, quiet, for so many years, like a secret we kept because we believed it. And now that secret is shared by mandate. And half hate it. Half can’t tolerate what’s been treasured, secretly, all these years.
Half of us have heard this “build back back,” and think, hmmm, or not. Maybe we had too much, excess and unbuilding was what we really needed. Half of us are fine without the junk we didn’t love. If it sounds like Marie Kondo for the consumer economy, maybe it is, or maybe it isn’t; maybe we don’t even need Marie Kondo philosophy, if all that other junk ceases to exist. Half of us wonder if the existence of a movement against junk wasn’t a form of liberation but an indicator that society has a set of goals and individuals have another set and self restraint isn’t enough in either situation.
Yeah, half of us are aware that half of you reading this are screaming to yourself with every word, pulling out your proverbial hair, saying, But I’m that restaurant and bar that’s gone, and I’m suffering and if you were suffering like me, you’d want to go back to normal also. And it’s true, we probably would. But also, if you were us, you’d be happy not going back. Because we are. Suffering is a sensation, but so joy and comfort. Both feelings are valid and half of us know that.
Half of us got lucky, you might say. And yes, some of that half weren’t lucky last time, and perhaps won’t be happy next time. Luck’s funny that way. And yes, half of us know that some groups have luck more often, but we wonder if that’s luck at all, you know, if the game is rigged, it’s not luck anymore. The house doesn’t count on luck. But this is more luck than not because so many of the unlucky were part of the house. No one thought this would ever happen, and we can’t blame them. We also can’t punish them. And giving half the world the false hope that both halves will run back to a former world, is punishment.
