What is the distinction between policies of harm reduction vs policies of hope?
Oh, the audacity of hope, here we are again.
(Is this what you think, he asked, or just what you read on the internet? I don’t really know, she said. It’s so easy to get lost down that rabbit hole.)
I find two rolls of toilet paper hidden in the office; that seems like an auspicious thing. Though also boding of Groundhog Day, which is to say, we aren‘t quite finished yet. Still more dancing in the living room, instead of on the dance floor. Spotify advertises “SUMMERPLAYLIST 2020! GUARANTEED VACATION FEELING!” Seems to bode for a summer without vacation, or rather, that simulated vacation feeling. Even when the marinas open, it will feel different, being out there on the boat. So much has happened, so many people lost. We are back again in World War Two, that time when my grandmother said, no matter what came after, they could handle it, because nothing could be as bad as that. But first they had to learn to appreciate what they still had. Then they could find pleasure again.
I begin to contemplate the an economy based upon pleasure. One can create an economy around anything, really, so why not pleasure? Which is not to mean hedonistic, because there is something inherently unproductive about hedonism. Pleasure, on the other hand, the cultivation of pleasure — what a revolution. This seems to follow indirectly upon the concept Freedom Dividend, here in this midst of the destruction of an economy based upon bottom-line profit margins. Because when we have lost everything that we previously valued, when the cost of a barrel of oil is negative, for instance, then from what can we make value, besides the uniquely invaluable creations of individuals?
I continue to listen to the Governor’s daily briefings, despite the increasingly repetitive talking points. But I usually don’t listen for the information; I listen for the process of reflection, for the inspiration, for the simple fact that he is there each day, and if he can do it, and so much more besides, then so can I.
In moments it seems to wear on him, when he has to speak of how many have died each day, or listen to stupid questions. But then there is always a turn of the head, an internal decision, to keep his head held high, to be respectful, and honest. What a honorable general. I trust him even more now than I did in the beginning.
We made it to halftime, the top of the mountain; here we are now, looking out at the view of that from which we came. Now the task of walking down the mountain, which is sometimes harder than going up to begin with, as a member of the Scandinavian government points out. The American governor speaks of football games; in Sweden, it’s hiking up a mountain. But we are hoping for a better future than we ever had. Setting the bar a little higher. Most of us, anyway; those not drunk on power.
In a segue to emphasize things we have gained in this time, he begins to speak about the return to family that many have involuntarily experienced in this time. He reflects upon this unique opportunity, to gather around the dinner table, to speak with grown children who are normally not there. He tells a story about his grandfather, an Italian immigrant who ran a grocery store in New York City and never took a vacation, never even took a day off. His vacation was the three hours of dinner with his family each Sunday, where they always had spaghetti and meatballs, and this Sunday before coming in to work he started his own tomato sauce, and they were going to sit down when he got home, and have a family dinner. A silver lining, in this midst of this hell. But what is one to do with their mind? Either there is a hell with silver linings, or one lacking light completely.
Governor Cuomo’s Italian grandfather was an immigrant in his time, an essential worker who would have kept his grocery open in a pandemic like the present. He honored his responsibility, and worked for it. All these essential workers, disproportionately dying now from illness. How can we remedy social inequality, he asks; How can we become more cohesive? He returns to the emphasis of NY Tough, which we all know by now means Smart, and Loving, and United, and Disciplined. Tough is the easy part, he says; it’s all the rest that that’s hard.
Do No Harm.
If we could build a new foundation of society and economy, perhaps that would be the first line in the revised constitution. For the feedback loop is so much smaller now, everything that happens is so much closer to home. Even as the numbers drop, we are given a new task now, of preventing riots, chaos, and confusion. Recognizing the heroic efforts by people, while simultaneously maintaining awareness of this situation, which is certainly not over, and bound to come back with a vengeance the moment our vigilance is lifted.
Ok, he says, Exhale. We have learned to control the beast. But we didn’t kill the beast. The beast is still there. (And there are probably other beasts out there.)
He mentions the word calibration, and that seems important to underline — calibration, tempering, the ability to mix two disparate substances together fluidly, which happens only when you do it slowly, and with care. Could the American political system, and all political systems around the world, ever manage to temper together the conservative agenda, with one that is also progressive?
(Then a miraculous and impossible thought dawned on me — What if the Governor could make friends with the bully in the playground that is the President? For we all know that bullies are only bullies because they have such an enormous insecurity complex. Then we have the President of Student Council, Homecoming King Cuomo, and for good reason. A real leader and a real bully. But as the Buddhists say, we are not all going to reach enlightenment, unless we all get there together. No bully left behind. Because in reality, he is our weak link. Just imagine it — a Trump that breaks down and cries and sees the emptiness of all he’s been fighting against, and for. The emptiness in his own heart. And then maybe a hand reaching out to the man on the ground, a strong hand connected to a strong heart, that is tough, and compassionate, and smart enough to see that the only way we get through this is together, that that doesn’t just mean together with the ones we want. God Bless America, for the love of all New Yorkers, there’s a point of unity, and sometimes you only need one.)
In the news the a reporter is talking once again about hand sanitizer, the new god of the fearful. He predicts we are going to evolve into two classes of society — Immunes, and Nots. Say you’re an Immune and I’m Not — I’ve got to hide inside afraid as hell, he says. That’s what the science writer for the Times says, and I feel bad for him, hiding in his apartment with his hand sanitizer, scared as hell. I feel bad for him because he seems to think Immunity is a fact, rather than a practice that one maintains and upholds. The more isolated you make yourself, the more you kill the good bacteria off, while trying to eliminate the bad, the more vulnerable you become, and likewise, alone, with no reinforcements to help.
When I drive across town again there are more people out, generally, and also more masks, in an established way, as if we are going to see people walking around wearing masks for many months to come. It seems to distinguish again these classes of society, the ones willing to fear the atmosphere, and those not.
At the bridge the pizzeria usually bustling in this kind of weather is open for takeaway, and I do, just because I can, and actually now given the opportunity, feel hungry. I haven’t had pizza in weeks. The whiskey I copiously drank last night over FaceTime with my family seems to have claiming its impact and I counter it with tomato and mozzarella. Many are out eating ice cream, which Germans love with a particular passion, and I love them for it. Don’t forget the Eis, even in crisis.
I find myself with the cherry trees again, at exactly 4:20 on 4/20. I raise a toast in spirit, with the birds and the pink petals that are just barely starting to fall from the trees that are now in full bloom. First the cherry trees, then the lilacs, then the rhododendron. The last daffodils are now bending, and the wind has blown all the petals from the singing tulips. Mother of the sun, thank you for blessing us each day, and all these other days. It is a beautiful spring this year, and we are all more present for it.
(In the background is the voice of a French woman, complaining about someone transgressing her privacy. Two Turkish men walk by speaking loudly, oblivious to the quiet that was previously here, its previous inhabitants. I find it interesting to observe; how some people just enter the picture like they own it, and eventually they often do, because they cause everyone else to leave. Living in the common. Awareness, of what is common. That is what is lacking.)
Aus Freude — the cherry blossoms are here because of happiness, and that is what they give. The task of staying positive seems all the more important now. For though the sun shines, the wind continues to blow.
An economy of pleasure.
Then he held her face in his hands and said, “I’m going to make you very happy.”