Bored with the apocalypse. Again.
Because it is the end of the year, and because this is the start of my sixth year writing this column, it feels like time for a year-end summary. That task, though, is probably easier said than done for a year like 2022, which will forever stand out in my memory as … a year. The past six or seven years have been a constant series of “hold my beer” years, where each new date on the calendar seems to have been a competition for the Worst Date Ever, but 2022 just sort of stood there. This is not to say that big events did not happen, or that there were not momentously joyful or horrendous occasions, but they never quite rose to expectations. Many of my students graduated from high school at the beginning of the pandemic, so they missed graduations and proms, and then when they started college, they faced more social distancing, online classes, and special circumstances that were tumultuous and anxious. This year, though, so many said it felt “normal,” complete with the finger quotes. In other words, not quite the normal they grew up expecting, but not quite abnormal enough to grab anyone’s attention.
Last spring when Russia invaded Ukraine, one of my students with family in Poland left class in tears, worried about what would happen to them. The rest of the class had a haunted look on their faces. As a GenXer who lived through the days when we all thought we would die in a nuclear Armageddon before we finished high school, I sympathized with them. Was this the start of the end of the world? If it was it has been a very slow start and we have become bored with the apocalypse. Again.
The midterm elections last month continued that theme. I grew exasperated and weary of clearing my email inbox of campaign notices begging me to donate to stave off the End of the World as We Know It. Social media gave many of us existential whiplash as friends posted links to articles screaming about the incoming red wave and then posted other links moments later screaming about the illusion of the red wave. for space and clarity.
When the dust settled, it was, in fact, a historical moment, when the incumbent’s party did not take huge losses in the midterms. The same thing happened in 1934 and 2002, and those were both the result of the United States facing a major crisis: the Great Depression and 9/11. So why did this year feel like a wet firecracker?
Maybe the best symbol for 2022’s lackluster plotline happened last week. The former president, displaying his penchant for capslock and exclamation points, teased the world with an upcoming huge announcement. The world quivered in anticipation, more or less. When I learned that the huge announcement was the release of digital trading cards featuring artwork that looked like it had been done by a talented sixth-grader hopped up on Mountain Dew and Skittles, I wasted at least an hour to make sure that this was not some monumental hoax. Had I missed something? Was April Fools now December Fools?
No hoax. This is where we are now: expecting the end of the world and getting the Pokémon knockoffs no one asked for.
I think the answer to this Jan Brady of years, the middle child of our tempestuous times, is that we are looking for meaning in the wrong places. We are expecting snappy comebacks and quick resolutions, forgetting that they only arrive much later, usually when we are in the shower replaying what happened. We expect short stories, but history only writes novels.
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