The New Normal

I’ve largely refrained from written commentary on the worldwide theatrical saga that was “the pandemic.” I generally intend to do so, out of care for not beating a dead horse; if you’re reading this, you likely understand.

Nonetheless, it was an era riddled with slogans, imperatives, and - dare I say - mantras, many of which are easy pickings for criticism.

“This is the ‘new normal.’”

I always found that funny - it’s an awfully definitive statement, intentionally so.

“Normal,” is relative.

Who is the arbiter of normalcy?

Maybe, my “normal” is not the same as your “normal.”

“Normal,” for most, is low-investment and low-activity - parroting pundits, keeping up with the Joneses - being swept away by the latest source of outrage or elation, courtesy of the 24-hour news cycle. Lukewarm behavior and conveniently short memories, coupled with emotionalism.

Simon says: “dance.”

Stay in step, march to the beat of the drums.

Good.

I’m fortunate enough to, generally, be surrounded by abstainers of the Conga Line.

My “normal” is often punctuated by difficult efforts and difficult conversations - not necessarily glamorous, but perhaps more authentic; if I must encounter friction, I prefer to do so on my own terms - squarely - in a manner that yields some measure of truth, dignity, or beauty.

Normalcy, from a contemporary perspective, is an inherently passive mode of being. The individual is a sort of radio antenna, receiving any and every transmission that confronts his senses and psyche - without filtration; he models his “life” according to what is received.

A life inside a house of mirrors.

Consumption, integration, without discrimination; a recipe for disaster.

Would you eat every item at a questionable buffet?

Contrarily, I’m interested in an active sort of normalcy - where the individual, by increments, begins to determine what is acceptable, valuable, and “normal” for himself. There’s a necessary degree of inconvenience to this - it demands real activity, and sensitivity, where there was previously a sort of slumber.

What might we become, if we truly examined our own idiosyncrasies, and stubbornly-held opinions, and absurd, knee-jerk reactions? It’s a harrowing process, but perhaps a valuable one.

Am I capable of questioning my own, inherently limited perspective - much of which is the product of passive consumption and conditioning?

Am I capable of assuming an increasingly active, individualized interior posture?

What value does “culture,” or “tradition,” or “safety, or ”progress,” or “normalcy” possess - if devoid of Life?