The choices seem pretty much the same, and none is the smooth path I wanted.
It feels like everything we do these days involves a risk assessment. Activities that we used to not give a second thought to now require careful calculations: can I still go to the grocery store today if I’ve already stopped by the post office? And choices we never thought we’d need to make are now thrown in front of us like a menu of bad options: do I send my child to school where they’re exposed to a whole new group of people or do I keep them home and struggle through more months of distance learning, whatever that means? Dare I risk sitting in a park with a friend for a restorative in-person conversation or do I stare into a screen for yet another hour feeling safe from virus transmission but somewhat unfulfilled?
Lately, I’ve found myself wanting clarity - wanting someone to just tell me what to do - whether it’s these safety questions or the much more mundane ones (do my kids really still need a nap?). And I don’t think I’m alone in this, at least not according to what I’m hearing from friends and family. For some this looks like searching the internet for advice, reading scientific articles, or latching on to someone who seems to have some good ideas. For others (myself included), this shows up as flipping between the air quality index (23, 65, 138), coronavirus stats (+17%, -4%), and the polling numbers (+9, -2), and then searching for what all those numbers really mean. There’s slight reassurance in these numbers, until you realize those numbers change. Often. And there’s quite a lot of disagreement about the meaning.
It’s natural in these moments of uncertainty to seek guidance or at the very least to seek information. There’s nothing wrong with doing so: in fact, we should look for information and we should look for support from people who make sense of information. Lucky or not, at this moment in time, it’s pretty easy to find both! There are many, many people who are ready and willing to give information (along with their interpretation of said information), and to give it confidently, sometimes even for free. And, boy, is it tempting to find comfort in those strong voices that reassure us, that tell us that feeling in our gut is right, or wrong, or inside out and backwards, but who tell us that in a way that convinces us at least someone knows what we should do. There are the more demure ones who might send a weekly newsletter or post a quote in fancy lettering on their social media, or the more intense ones who find their ways on to every television program. The challenge for us, the readers, the viewers, the consumers, is not in filtering this information - I think many of us are actually already pros in filtering out the things we don’t want to see or aren’t ready to hear - but the challenge is instead in digesting it, in questioning it, all of it. And it is designed to be difficult to question: there are the caveats and disclaimers, the defensive responses and dismissive responses. There’s the way of turning it back on you, “you only think that because…” or “only you think that…” I’m sure you’ll have no trouble thinking of examples of people who can’t handle a little questioning. It’s easy to point to the ones you disagree with, but as a challenge see if you can also think of someone you respect or someone whose information you value who maybe also doesn’t take so well to having their ideas questioned.
The danger in getting these responses is not only that we might stop questioning, but that we might become convinced there is only one single right answer. How easy it would be if there were! We could know what to do, how long to do it for, and whom to blame when it doesn’t work. But the reality is much more complex: it all depends. In-person school might be right for one person, for very good reasons, and wrong for someone else for the same good reasons. One can justify one’s decision to sit on a bench not quite 6 feet away from a friend while knowing the potential risks of doing so. This can be the right answer, even while it is also not the right answer.
“Hold on, Sarah,” you say, “this might be true for some things, but certainly there are others where there really only is one right answer.” You’re right. Well, sort of. There are some things that I believe have only one right answer, but as strongly as I believe that, there will be someone else who disagrees. And instead of trying to convince that person that I’m right, that looking at all the data, all the information, all the history, there is one single, solitary, incontrovertible answer, when that person questions my stance, I can ask “why.” Why do we disagree? What does this individual gain from holding a different idea? The answer to that question helps me understand that person and myself, my own beliefs even better. It’s not a sure bet, but a lot of the time, drilling down further into this “why” leads to more questioning - questioning that is uncomfortable, questioning that forces each of us to wonder about things we’ve thought we’ve known forever.
So what do we do? We sit with uncertainty, we get comfortable with not knowing, we allow for some discomfort, we push back against the need to have the answer, and we are “OK” with where we land. Maybe this pandemic, the extended shelter-in-place, the endless stream of scary headlines and the tiny glimmers of hope can train us to notice when we’re looking for THE answer when what we might need to do instead is accept there is not THE answer, but there is AN answer that will work for right now, AN answer that will work until we have another answer.
PS. There’s also a useful parenting lesson here: as important as it is for our children to know we have many answers, they must also learn we don’t have them all, that we are still learning. We can do this in a way that ensures they don’t feel unsafe or insecure by allowing them to question us, by really engaging in the questions they come up with instead of shoving them to the side to keep the train on time. It doesn’t mean it happens every time, or even many times. Sometimes you’ve just got to get your shoes on with no explanation offered, no room for pondering. But when that’s not the case, reflecting the “why” back at them - what’s happening with those shoes? what’s scary about leaving even if we’re going to do it anyway? why do we need to wear shoes even if we’re just getting in the car? - let’s our children know 1) that we care about their experience and 2) that we can handle not always knowing, not always having the answer, and that they can too. (Because let’s be honest, the kids aren’t giving us very direct, clear information to answer these questions, but neither are we always giving it to them.) Sometimes, believe it or not, it even helps the train be on time a few stations down the track.