Some Pollyannaism in a Debbie Downer Year – Musics

My last post was written from and about gloom, and those feelings are real and fill at least half of every day. What’s also real is that other parts of the day are still filled with joy, and it’s mostly owing to the internet: the art and music and movies I’m still allowed to access. (Also the people. Zoom is sometimes great.) Perhaps this is the silver lining of our country’s long decline—it will always be more profitable to a market oligarchy to let me pay for streaming art consumption than ban it because of the ideas it gives me.

Call me naive … please.

Herewith starts a series of posts to share what is new to me that I’ve loved these last few months. This post is on Spotify.

Back when everyone started talking about Spotify, they sold the All The Music In The World angle, as though having access to that was useful for people like me who suffer from choice paralysis. (They called me Dithering Dave at the Cribbage table back in grad school.) Nobody really did a good job selling Spotify’s more useful feature: its recommendation algorithm. It is very good. Unsettlingly good. Not only does my Discover Weekly playlist dig up songs I’ve forgotten I love, but it has either led me to explore, or introduced to me wholesale, some very good bands:

  • Amanaz – A Zambian band from the 1970s, who themselves introduced me to a subgenre: Zamrock, which is this mix of African and psychedelic musics. I love “I Am Very Far” but the big perfect hit is “Khala My Friend”.
  • Alex Chilton / Big Star – Many people know that Alex Chilton was only 16 when he sang “The Letter” but up until a few months ago I was not one of them. I never enjoyed Big Star’s first record, and I still might not. Ditto the second. But Third/Sister Lovers is a perfect, perfect record. It’s like the best Smog record before there was Bill Callahan.
  • Minutemen – My friend in middle school loved this band and I dismissed it all those years ago as punk noise (he also loved the Ramones and as much as I respect those folks I’ve never once wanted to, like, put on their record), and then Spotify suggested “History Lesson Part 2” and I was sold by the brotherly love between Mike Watt and Boon. Current fave is the two-disc Double Nickels on the Dime. (Plus Mike Watt can get it.)
  • Elton Motello, “Jet Boy Jet Girl” – English lyrics over the same backing track as Plastic Bertrand’s “Ca Plane Pour Moi”, which you’ve probably heard on a soundtrack somewhere. This one’s about running after a rich dude who fucks you when he wants but also lets you fly around on his jet: “He gives me head” is the refrain. It’s the party song I’ve been needing in my life for 2 decades.
  • Bill Fay – Long forgotten English 70s balladeering Cat Stevens type. I first loved “I Hear You Calling” (“All my time is lying / on the factory floor”) and then I fell hard for “Let All the Other Teddies Know”:

Months and months ago, my high school friends Chris and Beage and I tried resequencing records from our youth, which I blogged about here and here. I’ve since picked it up with college friends Beth and Steve. The idea is one of us creates a playlist challenge the others have two weeks to create. Steve just made us do Roxy Music mixes under 45 minutes exclusive of “Love is the Drug”. Before that Beth had us make mixes of songs about platonic friendship. Here’s my friend mix:

Here’s a comprehensive playlist I’m keeping of songs with just 2 chords:

Making playlists is a weak form of creativity, but it’s a form of it, and when the world’s this unsafe to step out into, I’ll take all the weak creativity I can get.

Next time: movies.

Beyond Consent: Why It’s Time to Talk about Sexual Autonomy

When I was in middle school, I wanted to have sex with my P.E. teacher. I’ll call him Jim. He had a mullet and a year-round tan, and he listened to the same radio station I did: 99.1 WHFS, the freeform indie station few of my friends even knew about. He was nice to us non-athletes. I remember his lips, I remember the snug shorts he wore, and I remember the one time I caught the slimmest glimpse of his royal blue briefs as we all sat on the ground with our legs spread wide, stretching our hamstrings.

I was the 9 jillionth teen to have a crush on their teacher. My crush is not unusual. That I wanted to act on my crush and shower with Jim, touching each other everywhere, I had the fantasy dozens of times—probably also not unusual. But that I look back on this and think it would have been nice if that could have happened, that feels not just unusual but dangerous.

I’ve written so many wrong versions of this post. Maybe I’ll never get it right.

I was 13/14 in those years; Jim was probably in his 30s. I wasn’t gay. I’ve written about this dozens of times, but I was so fully in denial that it never occurred to me that my fantasies of getting naked with him meant something about who I was, and if it did occur to me, late at night, before falling asleep, I took it as an error in my coding. Something I’d work on correcting someday soon. But what’s important for this post are those ages. I was 13 when I was Jim’s student, and Jim was in his 30s.

Every year we had scoliosis testing, which that year entailed each of us boys sitting in the school locker room and waiting for Jim to shout our last names from his office. We all sat in our school clothes for this, hip-to-hip on the benches in front of the lockers. When my name was called I got up and walked into Jim’s office. He sat behind his desk, reclined in his chair a little, with a clipboard in his hand.

I knew already to take off my shirt.

I stood there, scrawny as a salamander, and watched Jim look me over. “Turn around and bend over,” he said, and I turned around and bent over, then slowly came back up. I knew he was eyeing my spine. I knew he wasn’t looking anywhere else, but I imagined he was. In the nighttime fantasy, this is when he tells me to close the door, and then he starts teaching me helpful things about my stupid body.

I remember just wanting to hold him, and feel him hold me. I wanted to be given access to a grown man’s body, to be encouraged to explore it, and to be told this desire that burned through me every day wasn’t going to destroy my life. That’s all I wanted. Why couldn’t I have it?

Well first there’s age of consent laws, which aim to protect young people from the desires of some adults, which is to say they aim to protect what we value as the innocence of the people we deem to be children. (The sexual desires of those children, if they exist, are mostly irrelevant in the eyes of the law.) To be fair, AoC laws have also given girls more (but not much more) personal growth and agency before another man (historically) could ruin her life with marriage and children. (I’m showing my biases here, I know.)

Like many laws, AoC laws are arbitrary; we need as a society to decide when people are able to make rational and healthy decisions. Most (but not all) states have set this moment at one’s 18th birthday. Is this when it happens, that rational understanding? Did I know I was gay and feel ready for sex at 18? No. Maybe you were?

Maybe you even reached this date much sooner. Those of us unready to make our own healthy decisions (regarding sex or drinking or voting or whatever) at age 18, or 19 or 22, understand that we need to give up continued protections from the state for those of us who are ready. Which is to say: if you think 18 is too young an age to consent to sex with another adult, you are in the minority. And if you think that we should consider raising the age of consent, I think you might be hurting queer kids.

Earlier versions of this post had a lot more to say about Age of Consent laws that I’ll drop instead in a footnote.[1] I began those versions ready to argue, ready to put forward an unpopular opinion that I felt everyone would get on board with if they could just think rationally about sex for once, but more and more I see that I have trouble thinking rationally, and I think it’s more useful here to just say what I felt and wanted. I’m less interested in arguing than in figuring out what would have been so bad about having sex with my teacher.

Consider how we think about underage kids having sex (with each other). Talk to any teen girl and she’ll tell you that the slut/stud double-standard is still alive: when a straight boy has sex he’s scored, when a straight girl has sex she’s a little ruined. This is thankfully changing every day, as girls are taught (though not in schools) that sex is theirs to own and explore.

What about when a gay kid has sex? They’re neither studs nor sluts. They used to be perverts, but now they’re heroes.

Queerness is more of an identity, or a set of commitments and allegiances, than it is a history of lived behavior (behold Jameela Jamil), but gayness, i.e. homosexuality, is nothing separate from the sex it wants. So when a gay kid has consensual same-sex sex, it’s always a triumph—even if the sex is rotten, and even if the gay kid regrets it afterward. The triumph lies in their courage to say yes to and go after everything (a) their body is telling them to get but (b) their society tells them it’s wrong to even want. More than coming out of any closet, that first-sex moment where (a) triumphs over (b) is like a queer’s bat mitzvah.

I bat mitzvah’d at 26. I would have loved to find my triumph earlier, but I didn’t have anyone to help me, and I didn’t have the courage to act on my own. I didn’t know a single gay person who saw me. If Jim showed interest, it’s hard for me to accept that showing me how and why to have gay sex would have somehow hurt me in my becoming.

A lot of things have changed for gay people in 30 years, online porn being one of them. Used to be gay boys had to be “brought out”—almost always by older people. Read the early novels of gay U.S. fiction and much is made of this feeling of getting initiated into a secret club. I know how this sounds. I don’t have the personal stories to illustrate how it wasn’t necessarily abusive, but trust me that I’ve heard from enough gay friends about the underage sex they had with older men to know it doesn’t innately hurt a person.

Today, what a gay person is, what gay sex can entail, and why gayness isn’t a flaw are all common knowledge among U.S. teens. Gay kids are coming out before I even knew what I wanted to be growing up. When they can find depictions of gay sex online, and when they can come together in queer student organizations to see and affirm each other, what use do they have of queers of an older generation? The idea of having your first sexual experience with such a man must seem at best useless, and at worst predatory.

Or maybe it’s hot, still, for some of them? I’m myself a teacher (of adults), so I’m very wary of how to write about this. I know I have zero interest in sex with younger men (behold my browser history’s glut of daddy & bear links as evidence), but I also know I was once a younger man, I was even once a boy, who really wanted sex with an older man. I know I keep asking the same question again and again, but what to do about such real desires?

One path is to look at this from a consent framework, which would argue I at 13 could not consent to sex with my teacher. I’m talking about consent as it’s been delineated in university Title IX offices—which offices are tasked with fixing the longstanding inequities between men and women on college campuses, and specifically the discrimination against women or exclusion practiced toward them.

What makes consent so attractive (and as I hope to show ultimately limiting) is how it seems (via the law, or alongside the law) to seek out the one true way, or some catch-all concept of what sex is and what consent entails, that will, once we all get on board, stop rape and abuse, and even stop regretted sex.

In other words: once we fix sex and get it right (via the consent paradigm), then people will be sexually safe, healthy, and free.

College consent paradigms are important steps that (most) schools have taken to try to stop college men from sexually assaulting women. Consent paradigms—i.e., any two (or more) bodies engaging each other for pleasure must both agree to do so before any one body can get pleasure[2]—commit us all to using consent to correct or combat gender inequality and unfair power dynamics within a patriarchy. They are, then, useful when heterosexuals negotiate sex.

When gays have sex, that gender imbalance is gone, and with it go all the ideas about vulnerability and care that we bring to what the “two genders” signify in opposition. What remains, however, are the concerns about professional power imbalances and quid-pro-quo. Because Jim was my teacher, the paradigm goes, any sex between us would ruin or at least taint my learning, or the ongoing teacher-student relationship. At worst, it would force me to provide sex if I wanted a certain grade.

In this and other ways, the consent paradigm sees sex as unruly and contaminating. But is this true of sex, by its nature, or is it true of our relationships to sex?[3] Regardless, the consent paradigm would carefully explain how the sexual desires I had weren’t wrong, but that acting on them would be, because of how they would damage my non-sexual relationship with my teacher.

Personally, I don’t buy it, for all the reasons about gay sex and triumph I get at above. Who better to show me how to listen to my desires and use them to open my body up to my self than my physical education teacher? Um, maybe an experienced gay boy your own age? you might be thinking, and fine. Okay. But what I want to point out here is that the consent paradigm doesn’t give me the tools to (a) accept the sexual desire I had, and then (b) look into myself to know whether to act on it. Consent just says it’s wrong, or that I don’t yet have such capabilities. It has its reasons and its reasoning, but all of that is formed by the law and dictated to me. I am told to just accept it, for the safety of others.

What if we reversed the fixing-sex paradigm framed above: once we finally start talking as a society about what sex is (and is not, and what bodies are for and not for, and why every person deserves and should insist on their own sexual autonomy), then people will be better defended against rape, abuse, ruin, etc.

But what’s sexual autonomy exactly? Well, we can start with its dictionary definition of “freedom from external control or influence”—it’s about people acting as self-governing agents. Here’s theorist Joseph Fischel on the concept, from his very useful Sex and Harm in the Age of Consent:

[S]exual autonomy need not assume that we all come to the table—or bed—as unencumbered free agents. Instead, it can attempt to recognize differentiated relations of dependence, and to theorize acceptable and unacceptable forms of interference in the realm of sexual decision making, without prescribing what good sex should look like. The autonomy here is not an ontological truth of the human, but a guiding, revisable principle that recognizes available choices and checks certain constrictions on those choices. To that end, “sexual autonomy” is understood to be an aspiration, not an a priori. It is not a synonym for freedom, let alone justice, but a guiding principle for theorizing and regulating young sex and the young sexual subject.

Autonomy wants to preserve individual choice and agency as much as consent does, but it wants to begin from the sexual agent’s sense of knowing who they are and what they want (and don’t want). It wants them to feel informed about, and able to weigh the benefits of, the consequences of saying yes to any sex act. And in cultivating one’s aspirational autonomy, the autonomy paradigm distrusts the long-term effectiveness of one’s agency being regulated by outside authorities.

Which brings us back to my P.E. teacher, because what about his autonomy? Jim wasn’t gay,[4] and he never showed any interest. He may have once seen me looking up his shorts when we stretched, but then he looked away. And even though I didn’t feel it then, he may have felt (as I do now) that having sex with a student would get in the way of that student’s care and education. All that is ultimately why our having sex would be a bad idea: it would make any sex we had one-directional. Even if he consented to the sex I wanted (as a favor, say, in this impossible scenario), it would deny him sexual autonomy.

It wouldn’t be coercion, but it would impinge upon our both having equal agency and equal opportunity to choose only the sex we’re interested in having, and to come away from that sex feeling at peace with those choices. And my first time—as important or as unimportant as I considered it—would be with a man who didn’t want it. And what would sex mean to me after that?

I need to get at a more pressing problem to this whole thought experiment: how could I possibly have had enough of an understanding of my own sexual autonomy at age 13 to gauge the suitability of showering and more with my P.E. teacher? What I’m doing here is imagining actions and choices a deeply closeted kid would be making with the wisdom and understanding re sex I’ve only recently come to.

The real answer to why Jim and I couldn’t have had sex is that I didn’t know how or why to have it (and how and why not to).

You might believe that knowing all this takes time and the onset of adulthood, but I think more importantly it takes education and commitments, which the U.S. still has little of.[5] As kind as Jim was, the thing I learned most from Physical Education, in all the years I took it, was to be ashamed of my body, poorly performing at all the sports they just kept shuffling us through. Not a word about nutrition, or why exercise is important for everyone. Anything regarding sex was kept to the biological reproductive functions, plus your standard STIs, their symptoms, and their means of transmission.

And that was good sex ed. I got lucky, comparatively. But I’m keenly aware that it took my committing to write a book about sex and shame for me to finally learn—in my forties, for crying out loud—what sex is, and what my body is.

My claim here isn’t that sex is unruly, and thus can’t (our shouldn’t) be tamed by law. Nor is it that sex is always liberating, and needs to be kept free from limitations. Sex is a handshake. It’s Settlers of Catan. It’s a glass of wine with your friend. It’s table tennis, squash. It’s never anything outside of the other person(s) you’re having it with, never something abstract or pure that can exclude the fact of those people.

Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s lousy. Nobody should ever be forced to play, or feel coerced into being a good sport. But nor should your sexuality be presented to you as something you need to protect from harm or theft. Sex is yours to give and accept from others, whenever you know it’s best for you to do so.

Footnotes    (↵ returns to text)
  1. A lot of my thinking/tweeting about consent lately was spurred on by the news of how the Dem establishment in Massachusetts—out of fear of the surging campaign of Alex Morse, a progressive candidate for MA’s D-01 representative—released a statement that Morse had used his role as mayor of Holyoke and political leader to meet college students for dates and sex. Now: Morse has fully admitted to dating college students, none of which were his own students, and to having consensual sex with some of them. These college students were all legal adults, and legal adults are able to consent to sex with people. <– This is a statement that more and more people are arguing is not just factually wrong, but dangerous to college students’ vulnerable status. Also, Morse is gay. Some younger queers on Twitter—as well as the MA College Democrats, who released their statement about Morse and his history (and who were either paid in some form to do so in order to hurt Morse’s chances [which backfired, and he’s now getting more support from voters], or volunteered to do so for one of their member’s professional gain)—began talking about how 18-year-olds aren’t fully adults, or don’t yet have fully-developed prefrontal cortices, or how age of consent laws can’t on their own allow for consent. Queers who know more about sex understood that what the College Democrats were trying to do was to lay a narrative of predation and grooming, one taken from the chiefly heterosexual #MeToo movement, on to queer sexual relationships, which in the end amounted to age-old homophobia equating gay men with pedophiles. But what I and others saw, (and what I’ve written about in other forms before here: What (and Who) Pride is For), is how growing awareness of sexual consent laws and paradigms have led young queers, young people in general, to embrace their youth as something to protect against one reality of the adult world, which is that people are going to want to have sex with you, and they will approach you from that desire. They sound far better informed on the nature of consent than they are on the nature of sex, and I think it’s a shame.
  2. This is my clunky language, but N.B. here that nowhere on my school’s Title IX office’s page on Consent does it say anything about both actors receiving pleasure, which means that a woman consenting to go down on a man and then watching him go home afterward still constitutes a fully sanctioned consensual sexual encounter, even if she might be wondering why she didn’t get to come. Which brings us (soon) to sexual autonomy.
  3. This notion connects back to what I said about what AoC laws do and ask of us all: I may, in this long hypothetical, have been at age 14 in the minority in being able to have sex with my teacher without trying to win favor or worrying about punishment from him, but not everyone can cleave sex from emotions and commitments. For those who can’t, consent laws protect them from harm, and the rest of us should accept this trade-off.
  4. …most likely, and if he was don’t tell me because then not getting to fuck him would just hurt more.
  5. In the Netherlands by contrast, which begins comprehensive sexuality education in kindergarten, teens wait longer than U.S. teens to have sex, and far more of them report enjoying their first time. More here.

Some of the Ways I Love (& Don’t Love) My Families

When I was 13, my granddad drove me to things like the orthodonist. He’d moved in with us after my grandma died. He was born in 1909, impossibly old to me. I’d watch him drive, eager to start learning. He did this thing where when it came time to signal a turn he’d lift or lower the turn signal with his pinky, just like a half-inch, and then halfway through the turn he’d let it go. Whereas my mom, when she drove, would just push or pull the stick all the way and let it click back off itself.

Once, on the way to the orthodontist, we came to a red light that was more backed up than usual at this hour. Two cars ahead, there was a car in two lanes; the driver must have realized too late that they needed to go straight and not left, and so our left turn lane, with our green arrow, was stuck. Granddad raised a finger off the fist he gripped the wheel with, pointing at that car. “Bet you she’s a yellow-skin,” he said.

I think of that moment a lot when I hear the words “family first.”

I think of a lot of things. I think of James Dobson and his anti-gay Focus on the Family. I think of the colleague I once had who said that asking faculty to host events for students on the weekend was “the opposite of family-friendly”—meaning my family wasn’t a family because it didn’t have kids in it. I think of The Godfather and the Fargo TV series and Oedipus and ruin. And naturally, I think of Philip Larkin (pictured, right) and his perfect poem, “This Be the Verse”:

Keep Reading…

Some More Thoughts on Virtue

“Great,” you’re thinking.

But last week I watched the first half of Kaija Saariaho’s opera L’Amour de loin broadcast by the Met, and noted in the subtitles this line, sung by the mezzo to the baritone about the soprano: “She is beautiful without the arrogance of beauty, noble without the arrogance of nobility, pious without the arrogance of piety.”

I liked it because the virtues (whether the 4 cardinal or 7 holy ones) have always seemed like obnoxious impossibilities. It’s like when I first started talking again to Jesus and reading about his deeds and ideas. I’m supposed to live as he did? Who can possibly compete?

The living as turns out to be key. Here, the mezzo (a) points to how the virtues become more virtuous and useful when we see them as ways for acting, guidelines for one’s behavior and comportment, while (b) simultaneously warning us against exemplifying or being characterized in full as any one of them.

In other words, make the virtues adverbs, not nouns.[*]

Footnotes    (↵ returns to text)
  1. You might want to point out that the mezzo extols the soprano’s virtues with adjectives. She “is beautiful” and “is pious”, but I’m reading those as effects of verbal actions. Or better: how is her generally being-a-person? Oh she does-be’s beautifully. She is-acts nobly.

On Things Reopening

Two quick thoughts on the push to reopen stores and beaches and things while states are still seeing an increase in covid-19 cases. The obvious thought is that undereducated people are being convinced that fighting The Rich Man’s War to Resume Making Money is a virtue, a form of patriotism, in much the same way the U.S. military works to convince young people of limited means that dying for oil barons in endless wars might make them a hero.

The less obvious thought is that undereducated people are being convinced that Deciding For Yourself When To Get A Haircut is a form of civil disobedience, which has a grand history in the U.S., and which feels very good to take part in, with the long-term added benefit for our current administration of becoming the obvious scapegoat if a second-wave of virus deaths happens this summer.

In other words: it won’t be Trump’s fault that so many Americans have died. It’ll be all these disobedient people, who in turn will be happy to take the blame away from their deadbeat dad.

But that’s not what I want to talk about. In California, there’s a (semi-) detailed plan for reopening what’s been closed since March. Right now, retail stores have reopened with curbside pickup only. The next phase is to open “personal care” businesses like salons and gyms. The final phase is to reopen concert and sports venues.

It’s odd that California’s plan doesn’t mention bars and restaurants (my guess is they’re somewhere in the late-2 / early-3 stage, at least smaller-capacity ones). But it’s all I and my friends here talk about. Nobody’s yearning to drive to a curb to pick up a pair of shoes they bought online. Everybody wants to be able to hang out together.

That reopening shops and businesses is our focus has something to do with public health but a lot to do with money-making always taking a priority over people’s well-being.

Keep reading…

This Quarantine Is Not Not-Normal

We in San Francisco are into our third week of sheltering in place, officially. Neal and I had already been staying inside for about a week before the order. Other states and cities are finally getting on board. I know: I hate it too.

I’ve said a lot to the friends I text that I can’t wait for things to get back to normal. This usually means going to bars and restaurants and movie theaters. Hugging friends again. And if I think individually, this sheltering in place feels very abnormal. Something is wrong and off, and I feel driven to return to a time I didn’t have those feelings.

Thinking beyond my individual experience makes me see this desire as faulty and dangerous. The circumstances of everyday life were deeply strange and abnormal—funny, in the 2nd definition of the word—before the virus hit. I couldn’t understand why billionaires were allowed to accrue tax-free billions when even owning a home was increasingly out of reach for large swaths of the population. Or while environmental protections were being dropped as our summers get hotter and natural disasters happen every year.

You see it anywhere. The growing tolerance of racism in our political discourse. The reliance not on public services but rather profit-driven companies to provide people with basic needs, despite them being unprofitable. A constitutional right to own a gun but not to a job or a house. Very little of how we operate as a public, or a populace, makes sense or feels normal.

Until now.

You’ve probably heard about the environmental impacts quarantine has had—clearer waters, birds returning, lower emissions—and what I hope everyone is talking about is how necessary large, strong government systems are in getting people what they need to survive and be well. I’m not talking just about the obvious need for single-payer healthcare (clearly affordable if we can just decide to pay for it), but also about the role of public health experts.[*]

In this light, I’m trying to see quarantine as a correction, a stabilization, a re-norming. This idea came from reading Deborah Nelson’s chapter in Tough Enough on the philosopher Simone Weil. Writing about the era in which Weil’s work was published in the U.S. (1940s/1950s), Nelson points to the return to domesticity the country was going through (or what another scholar she cites calls a “bomb shelter mentality”):

The embrace of normalcy—often under coercively normalizing terms—was a post-traumatic effect, the outcome of decades of dislocation, deprivation, and loss during the depression of the 1930s and the mobilization of World War II.

“Coercively normalizing” is key. It’s easy to see how one person’s norm is another person’s nightmare (if you’re happily, fervently monogamous in your marriage, just imagine state-sanctioned polygamy as the social norm to see what I mean).

Once the numbers come down, once a vaccine is available, if what results from this pandemic is a welcomed return to normalcy, whatever norms the country returns to will always only be majoritarian norms—that is, the norms of the wealthy ruling class. (And I think I’m not alone in being heartened by the growing criticisms toward the ultra-wealthy and how they’re spending their luxury quarantines.)

Instead, I’m thinking of this moment as the normal I want, even with all its disruptions and cruelties. For if the time before the virus came was normal, it’s not a normal I want to return to. In this line of thinking, I was very happy to wake up this morning to Peter C Baker’s argument in The Guardian about the opportunity this virus provides us to make a better world:

For years, in mainstream politics the conventional line – on everything from healthcare to basic living expenses such as housing – has been that even if the world has its problems, expansive government intervention is not a feasible solution. Instead, we have been told that what works best are “marketplace” solutions, which give large roles to corporations motivated not by outdated notions like “the public good” but by a desire to make a profit. But then the virus started spreading, governments spent trillions in days – even going so far as to write cheques directly to citizens – and suddenly the question of what was feasible felt different.

From this perspective, the task today is not to fight the virus in order to return to business as usual, because business as usual was already a disaster. The goal, instead, is to fight the virus – and in doing so transform business as usual into something more humane and secure.

When this normal is over, we’ll all be ready for something else. Let’s collectively insist on some useful strangenesses. And I don’t mean just in terms of income redistribution and egalitarian infrastructures. We can make New Normals in our behavior and personal choices.

I don’t want a return. I’m seeing this time as a wiping of the slate. I, like you, will be spending a lot less time inside. But I don’t think I’ll ever teach a traditional workshop class again. And I won’t let fears of being branded a creep stop me from seeking out the connection of touch I can feel I need.

Maybe what I’m doing is seeing the pandemic as a long New Year’s Eve, piling up resolutions to live better and to Manifest The World I Want etc etc. But I’m happy with that. On New Year’s Day, it’s hard not to look forward, the weight and mess of the previous year falling off you like a shedded skin.

Let’s all be remade by this time apart, and return better for each other.

Footnotes    (↵ returns to text)
  1. Though I also worry that this administration’s total lack of leadership during the pandemic will lead to people more affirmed that it’s only the free market (and like fucking Elon Musk) that we can rely on to save us.