Hostile Proximity

When I moved to Chicago from a small town I willingly traded my endless personal space for constant activity and the ‘luxury’ of disappearing into a crowd. The closeness of strangers in motion is synonymous with city living. As much as I may complain about crowded commutes, it’s often what I like most about living in a major city.

Here, in 2020 I’m looking back to my small-town upbringing for cues on how to live now. The density I came for is no longer so acceptable, in fact, it’s become dangerous. The real estate around our bodies has increased in value as the only buffer against potential harm (and harming). We are dodging each other on streets and in grocery stores, afraid of an invisible illness. An accidental brush past becomes hostile, not attempting to create distance feels rude, and not wearing a mask in public even more so. Early on I found myself trying to reconcile how I was seeing others as threats. I avoided eye contact as much as closeness, somehow it too felt dangerous. I would read online articles, efforts to remind each other that we are still here and close, in spirit anyway. Posts about how you can’t catch the virus through basic kindness, to try and remind us to still be civil. With that in mind, I cautiously walked the grocery store aisles and sidewalks trying to smile through my mask as I moved to distance myself. I still would reflexively shy away from eye contact and then try to consciously do better next time. I’m a person with prescribed anxiety, not fantastic with strangers on a good day, let alone during a pandemic. I feel my body trying to reconcile it too. My nerves are too sensitive, aching for touch while also feeling repelled by it, causing a constant irritating feeling right between my eyes. Then there’s the special difficulty of isolation, the embodiment of the stereotypical reclusive cat lady I’ve unwillingly become. At one point I was dropping off some masks to a friend and our conversation lingered across the sidewalk, we both seemed to need the company. At one point they mentioned the potential for developing trauma that would affect how we receive physical contact in the future from this experience. A new and terrifying thought of the residual effects that might lay ahead. The prospect of it being even more difficult to be close to another person, even when it is safe, made me feel somehow more isolated. Along with the lonely reality of the touch deficit, I was feeling and reading about. One article called it ‘skin hunger’ which made me think of zombies more than a want for human touch.

I also think of the bigger picture, beyond the negligence of some of my neighbors is the terrifying reality of what’s going on across the country. The outbursts of “personal freedom” and wanting to reopen life much earlier than medical experts advise. Also the campaigns of misinformation across media, it all feels like watching a death march. I can’t say, ‘let them endanger themselves’ because that’s not how this works. It feels worse than negligent, it feels profoundly selfish, a gross disregard for others, and how they might be affected. But with the noise of indignant people, I can also hear the fear of losing a life many were already just barely hanging on to. It’s hard to feel angry, completely powerless and somehow still concerned for those not taking precautions. It’s hard to blame the people, their actions are a symptom of a government that doesn’t seem to care beyond the effects on the economy. A clear amplification of a system that was already not working for many of us.

There’s a constant hum of anxiety around most things that involve leaving the house now, trying to socialize seems to be causing me the most pause. Planning isolation periods before having small gatherings. Video chat dates to avoid the risk of meeting in person, only to have it not work out. Calculating the danger to your household when a friend asks if it’s ok to stop by for a quick distanced hello. The awkward goodbyes through masks that never quite feel ‘enough’. Wondering if you or your friend will be ok after a distance meeting in a local park. Each moment is a calculated risk, a negotiation with our safety and the safety of those we care about.

As the uncertainty of this moment creeps forward with a vague sense of time passing, as the numbers of the sick and the dead increase yet somehow feel unreal (to some), I believe it is important to hold both truths: Proximity to others is risky and could potentially cause harm and the fear and anxiety around that is legitimate. Also, we are each going through a global/ personal trauma and might benefit from some kindness and understanding. I don’t believe everyone is doing the best they can all the time and maybe we could all stand to do better for each other in action and compassion.