AS CASES SPIKE, SO DOES MY ANXIETY,
Anxious? I don’t blame you. So am I, which is so unlike me.
It’s not just the highstakes presidential election that has turned up a collective simmering tension, though, yes, some of it is that. Count me in as one of the more than two-thirds of Americans who point to Nov. 3 as a significant source of stress. Still, I can deal with that.
But negotiating the risks of COVID-19, now that really pumps up my trepidation. As potentially risky places open up, as medical information evolves and sometimes contradicts itself, I find myself secondguessing everything I do. President Donald Trump can talk all he wants about the coronavirus fading, but the reality is inalterable: cases are spiking — and my unease right along with it.
I’m an avid mask-wearer whose handwashing exuberance has probably rubbed the whorls off her fingerprints, but I’ve learned that not everybody assesses, or manages, risk the same way I do. In fact, my extended family’s risk tolerance runs the gamut.
Imagine a line, with the left point being the overthe-top cautious and the right ranking as the most cavalier. I can name at least one relative who falls somewhere along that spectrum.
Two households, for instance, have hardly ventured out. One is an older couple with underlying health conditions, but the other is a family with two young children. For those kids, there have been no playdates and very limited visits to an empty playground. One parent has been designated for potential exposure and does all the errands and shopping. Now skip down that risk line all the way to the other end, where a college student has happily (if awkwardly) resumed a limited social life.
Variations in between abound, some by choice, some by job requirements. Three sons, for example, have traveled for business. (I work hard to banish the image of them traipsing through airports clogged with COVID-19 aerosol particles.) The fourth expects to be working from his dining room table until next spring or summer.
Yet, in the past couple of months, all have socialized with each other.
As for the grandchildren, three jumped at the opportunity for in-person school, resuming their tennis lessons and cheerleading and lacrosse practices. The others remain steadfast at-home students, though two of those are back in dance classes, pirouetting across air-purified ballrooms in masks and ballet slippers. I’m not sure what makes one setting safer than another, but our decisions often depend on convenience and expediency.
Opening my pandemic bubble to varied circumstances has required a constant recalibration of every family and every situation. I admit, though, that my risk management is all over the place. Some of my choices are probably nothing more than educated guesses, a quick calculating and weighing of what I call the if-this-then-probably-that process.
Most everybody is operating in the same way, selecting from a smorgasbord of options and then justifying it with mental gymnastics. I can’t even claim consistency. I refuse to dine indoors but recently returned to the gym. I’m planning to attend a friend’s daughter’s outdoor bridal shower with my mask, though I’ve turned down similar offers, mainly because these were larger gatherings. No wonder I yearn for the day when I don’t have to worry that a random tickle in my throat is a harbinger of a deadly virus.
Each of us tolerates risk differently. Each of us shifts with the circumstances. Each of us believes ourselves responsible. even as we look askance at the behavior of others. And in the end, all of this quantifying and assessing and evaluating has guaranteed us one thing: mental exhaustion with a side dish of angst.