Going to the Plaza Part 2 or: Hello? Is there anybody out there?

Magnificent article, but why do you feel disconnected? A well timed writing prompt from the ever present and aware C. As always – thank you, Joyful One.

It took me a while to find the answer, a while to sit with the storm of unpleasant feelings long enough for them to reveal their pattern, their name.

I am in mourning. I am grieving.

It has been 2 years, over 700 days, since my small social network dissolved and my feeling close to people has been reduced to 1.5 humans that live on average 360 km away from me.

It has been 2 years, over 24 months, since my sparse physical contact to humans (aka hugs) has been reduced to 1.5 per month on average. That is 36 hugs in 2 years. That is, or at least should be, considered torture under the Geneva Convention.

Lunar New Year 2020, my life contained 

• a hand full of close friends that I would see twice a month at least, despite the km in between our houses, 
• a smattering of loose social contacts in various classes with whom I shared one hobby or another, us all being affectionate and happy to see each other every week, 
• a handful of colleagues that I would categorise as humans, with whom I could have silly and serious conversations outside of the task based topics,
• a brother, though half way around the world, that I felt close to, who would call me with his woes and in return listened to mine, and 
• parents, also half way around the world, who I would look forward to talking to and enjoy spending time with, albeit only every 2 years as flights are expensive. 

All in all, I was no social butterfly and by no means well networked, but I was building my relationships bit by bit, discovering my new Ugg Boots self. And I was aware and grateful for it.

Then March 2020 happened and the world as we knew it, ended. I wrote Going to the Plaza back then, trying my best to do something to not regret having done nothing. I shared this article with all the people that were dear to me, because it was so close to my heart. As we all know, it and all the effort of others changed nothing, we are still facing a world that even Mr Orwell could not have imagined, and he did well, he was close.

Casual social contacts with whom you share interests and connection while pursuing these interests? That was the first thing taken off the agenda. In the beginning completely and only after we have all learned that hugging people is bad for you, are they back on – distanced, of course.

Close social contacts that are not of your household? Forbidden just long enough to make sure everyone absorbed the new distance as normal. I have lost my connectedness to all but 1 close friend and I count another as half, as they are half way around the world. I have lost the connectedness to my brother and parents. I have lost all the humans at work. 

It’s not that we don’t talk anymore, we do, but when we do, we avoid the state of the world, avoid the Big C (yes, covid now trumps cancer, right?), avoid therefore the core of what it is to be (or not to be) human today. Because I do not agree, because I do not believe the singular narrative, because I doubt and because my fear of a totalitarian world government outweighs by far the fear of getting sick or dying. Because I have become the crazy one.

And when you leave out, what, 99% of what is in our hearts, these precious close connections, become somewhat empty, hollow, and just … less.

This is the first time I am using the word lost in this context, though. Because we are, after all, still speaking and no one has broken up with each other. So it took hearing that half way around the world friend saying “… my good, old, trusted, and loyal friend is now gone, somehow…” to realise loss of connectedness does not have to involve someone breaking up with you, someone stopping to talk to you. A simple shallowing (or should I say distancing) of the relationship does the same.

I lost them … and I am grieving. 

All fell into place then.

Why am I so keenly aware of my craving for connection? Why had I been so irritable with all of them? So angry at small things? Why was I bracing myself whenever I talked to any of them? Why have I been feeling left out and sad at work, injecting sarcasm into conversations that didn’t need it?

I thought is was me. I thought I was regressing into SteelCaps. I was admonishing myself for craving to eat the world and for so desperately seeking professional acknowledgements to maintain a minimum of self worth.

It is me – but also not. I am grieving. I didn’t know it, so the associated feelings made no sense, but now that I named it … feeling

Lost, Alone, Angry, Scared, Desperate, Helpless

is all part of mourning. I lost something incredibly precious and there is little I can do about it besides acknowledging the loss and allowing myself to grieve. 

A big, deep, snotty, and heartbreaking cry later I am no less sad, but feel like I just might have the courage to keep admitting to the loss, keep grieving, maybe get to a point of letting go of the resentment and assembling the spirit to try and try again.

Because what was ominous writing on the wall in August 2020 has come and gone and been far surpassed since. 

We had/have the ongoing incline in suicides, domestic violence, drug abuse, homelessness, small to medium business bankruptcies, and the economic death of all forms of art. But no one talks about it.

We had/have catastrophic weather events and advances in the science that could help. But no one talks about it.

We had/have 2 year’s worth of data from around the world, diverse data that could shed light on more than one solution to more than one problem. But no one talks about it, one is even hard pressed to find it.

We had re-writings of fundamental laws in all the western countries that lay the foundation for something that only a short 10 years ago, we went to war to liberate others from. But no one talks about it.

Who would have thought that a group of people quoting Orwell would be labelled right wing fashists? 

Who would have thought that we as a global people would willingly sign off on travel restrictions that the USSR could have only dreamed of? 

Who would have thought that medical scientists can say out loud in writing “… black people in Africa have a different immune systems …” without the world gasping in horror? Or even noting it.

Who would have thought that we would get so used to the purple elephant in the room that we collectively do not mention it, do not even see it anymore? I always thought that Douglas Adams’ SEP field would not really work, but hey… Who would have thought that I, the doctor’s daughter, the engineer, the rational one who is proud of her brain, would feel more kinship with alien abduction theorists than all the normal people around me? 

Who would have thought that memes depicting exactly what we’re headed towards to are read as humorous diversion, not as desperate and urgent wake up call?

When I wrote to my MPs back in 2020 with my name and address signed, I published the letter on the blog anonymously, making sure that only someone who really wanted to and knew enough about the internet could get from SteelCaps2Uggs to my real world self, to my good name. I was afraid of the backlash, afraid that strangers on the internet would curse me, bully me and shun me. What I had not expected, not even really thought of, was that my inner circle might do so. Not bully me, not shun me, they are good people after all. But that I would lose connection to those who do not see where we are heading and whom I therefore make uncomfortable ever since this letter. And I did show them myself – no one had to dig there.

So the worst already happened, yes? So here I go to the Plaza again, this time asking

Hello? Is there anybody out there?

It’s me, Stefanie