Complacency and conflict in the times of the pandemic

As we are growing, our elders often present us with lessons based or archetypes, canonical examples which are very relatable and therefore easy to understand. One of these archetypes is the Big Bad Wolf, which embodies the menacing predatory antagonist. However, if we stick to this single character and consider wolves to be unabashedly evil, we are bound to miss other interesting stories such as the she-wolf lovingly taking care of her cubs or the pack mourning an injured or fallen member. The flip side is the archetype of the hero, which combats adversity through feats of ingenuity, courage or strength. In heroic tales, the foibles and weaknesses of the heroes are often either completely dismissed or blamed to their human nature or good heart, but as in the case of the wolf, this leaves out very relevant aspects of the characters such as what the ultimate motivation for such selfless acts might be, perhaps a pathological need for attention.

Soon after we understand the concepts of good and evil demonstrated by these archetypes, we also start to grasp that they are distilled characters and that reality is often much more complex that those basic roles. Indeed, an intrinsic component of the so-called "young adult" literature revolves around the conflicts that arise in life when these archetypes prove not to be true: when your best friend, whom you totally idolize, shows a despicable behavior towards a third person and the illusion of an unmitigated good person shatters. In this and many other ways we get to understand that ideals are very unlikely to find a realization and should be used as a guide, but not as a goal. This is precisely what the famous writer Ernest Hemingway meant when he said that "In order to write about life first you must live it", because unless you have experienced the conflicts of life in your own flesh you live in an unrealistic bubble of ideal representations that do not correspond to reality. And then advertising happens.

Photo: Erika Iser

One of the strongest narratives of marketing is that the ideal is possible: whenever they speak of "the perfect wife", "the trip of your dreams" or "the last car you will ever want to buy" they are leveraging on the romantic ideals and feeding on our dissatisfaction to sell us some products. By presenting us with superstimuli they manage to make our lives pale in contrast: the grass is not greener on the other side of the fence, but on the other side of the border of reality. If we envision having a life as perfect as in the advertising we are bound to feel unsatisfied, and that is where sensible people start to think of compromises to reconcile the aspirations with the reality.

A common consequence of this legitimate pursuit of the ideal is that we exercise as much control as we can in our direct environment: the way we cut our hair, the clothes we wear, the decoration of our house, the model of the car we drive, are all aimed not only to our self-expression but also to the fulfillment of an ideal. And as we get away from our area of control, reality starts to depart from our ideals or the compromises we have reached. Anyone has experienced grandma unashamedly breaching the "one sweet per day" rule? And what happens when the pandemic forces you to stay in your area of control?

A few days ago I ran into an article by political editor Adrian Wooldridge in The Economist explaining how the lock-down has robbed us all of our daily nuisances: the impolite lady in the subway, the nasty food in the cafeteria, the traffic jam in the rush hour. Life is chaotic and it has an incredible variety of options to make us suffer, but it it this variety that punctuates and provides texture to our life. In fact, they help us feel better whenever to manage beat the rush-hour traffic or when we smile at the grumbling person at the supermarket instead of yelling back. Now that the pandemic has forced many of us to stay at home all these inconveniences are simply gone. That reminds me of the eerie feeling when you reach a toll station after an hour or two on the highway: the trustworthy roadside line that has accompanied you all that time suddenly disappears and you have to navigate a huge expanse of tarmac without its guidance, a very disorienting feeling.

The other side effect of the seclusion is that you do not feel the relief of coming home any more: as you cross you threshold on a normal day you leave behind a chaotic jungle to return to a (fairly) well regulated environment, where events follow a rhythm and objects have a designated place. However, now that we stay in the house for days or weeks, we do not have the usual measuring stick anymore and start to turn against our own family: even if they are dedicated to keeping the order, they are humans in the end and spending more time at home also means causing more trouble, more dust on the floors, more meals to be cooked, more fights over access to the bathroom.

Military personnel conduct regular drills to keep them on edge and prevent complacency from ensuing. Perhaps it would be advisable for everyone to take the occasional chance to face whatever world is out there, if only to be irritated by it and find again the relief of coming home. Or maybe you are, as myself, happy to be at home and have no need to venture into the wild. At any rate, I hope you have a nice evening.