It occurred to me earlier today that perhaps I should not write this article. This hesitation is not the self-doubt that always comes with staring at the blank page, but I wonder if this time my argument is heartless. If it is, I could upset a lot of people.
What I want to do is write the article that I haven’t seen yet—the one about how there is always a silver lining in every challenge, and that this pandemic is no exception.
But this morning I’m asking if that mission isn’t reckless. My doubts crept in after reading a few forum comments from a woman who is in many ways me, but 20 years in the future—activist, writer, coach, and, I suspect, still not entirely sure what she wants to do with her life. Naturally, she’s a mirror for me.
Her statement went something like, “I’m tired of people telling me there are silver linings in this pandemic. People are being so glib about it, and they are ignoring the very real and horrible economic tragedy that’s coming.”
I suspect that I am one of those glib, glass half full optimist-holes that spurred her remarks. Earlier this week I sent her one of those many “we’re all in this together” emails that are overloading Gmail’s servers, sharing my unsolicited thoughts about silver linings. My rational mind tells me that my friend is not singling me out, and that this cause-effect I’ve manufactured is only my own narcissism; a cocktail of the low-grade paranoia that everyone’s feeling right now, coupled with the lack of sleep that accompanies new-dad-hood.
Regardless, the evidence is on the side of her argument. We are, to quote my dad, up the creek without a paddle. While the doctors and grocery clerks fight to exhaustion on the front lines, I imagine that it’s the economists who are having real trouble sleeping right now, self-medicating with whiskey in the quarantine-era speakeasies that I suspect are hiding on every second cul-de-sac, belly up to wood-paneled basement bars, next to climate scientists and bee-keepers, wishing they had studied to be doctors or nurses, rather than rebuild the free market from the ashes.
I’ve been waiting and hoping for much better writers, like Tim Kreider or Paul Krugman, to pen that “everything’s going to turn out fine” article, but I can see now, after a pretty solid nap, that those hard-headed realists would never embark on that kind of naïve exercise. Instead you get me, set up for the impossible task of trying to make sense of this brave new world.
I don’t know if at the end of this article I’ll still believe my own silver lining drivel, so bear with me while we pick up the broken pieces of The Worst Crisis in 100 Years, and work out, in real time, whether there is in fact a bright side to this pandemic, or if we are, to put a fine point on it, screwed.
What I want to do is write the article that I haven’t seen yet—the one about how there is always a silver lining in every challenge, and that this pandemic is no exception.
But this morning I’m asking if that mission isn’t reckless. My doubts crept in after reading a few forum comments from a woman who is in many ways me, but 20 years in the future—activist, writer, coach, and, I suspect, still not entirely sure what she wants to do with her life. Naturally, she’s a mirror for me.
Her statement went something like, “I’m tired of people telling me there are silver linings in this pandemic. People are being so glib about it, and they are ignoring the very real and horrible economic tragedy that’s coming.”
I suspect that I am one of those glib, glass half full optimist-holes that spurred her remarks. Earlier this week I sent her one of those many “we’re all in this together” emails that are overloading Gmail’s servers, sharing my unsolicited thoughts about silver linings. My rational mind tells me that my friend is not singling me out, and that this cause-effect I’ve manufactured is only my own narcissism; a cocktail of the low-grade paranoia that everyone’s feeling right now, coupled with the lack of sleep that accompanies new-dad-hood.
Regardless, the evidence is on the side of her argument. We are, to quote my dad, up the creek without a paddle. While the doctors and grocery clerks fight to exhaustion on the front lines, I imagine that it’s the economists who are having real trouble sleeping right now, self-medicating with whiskey in the quarantine-era speakeasies that I suspect are hiding on every second cul-de-sac, belly up to wood-paneled basement bars, next to climate scientists and bee-keepers, wishing they had studied to be doctors or nurses, rather than rebuild the free market from the ashes.
I’ve been waiting and hoping for much better writers, like Tim Kreider or Paul Krugman, to pen that “everything’s going to turn out fine” article, but I can see now, after a pretty solid nap, that those hard-headed realists would never embark on that kind of naïve exercise. Instead you get me, set up for the impossible task of trying to make sense of this brave new world.
I don’t know if at the end of this article I’ll still believe my own silver lining drivel, so bear with me while we pick up the broken pieces of The Worst Crisis in 100 Years, and work out, in real time, whether there is in fact a bright side to this pandemic, or if we are, to put a fine point on it, screwed.
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