Despair and Toilet Paper
OK, so what is the deal with panic-hoarding toilet paper? Are we really thinking we’re going to be doing that much extra pooping in days to come? Are we stocking an equal amount of food to keep up with all the feces that we’re afraid of not being able to wipe? Or is TP some sort of emblematic talisman of preparedness — a thing that serves an ordinary function, but is also deeply comforting on a symbolic level? In uncertain times we all crave the illusion of control, but toilet paper? Really? Maybe Freud was right. Maybe anal fixation is fundamental to our personality development. I can’t say.
And while we’re at it, another psychologically troubling elephant in the room is the doomsday aspiration that Covid 19 has triggered in certain swathes of society. The bathroom tissue aisle at every Walmart now looks like a scene from any apocalyptic movie you can name. Toilet paper is now worth slugging it out over. There must be a connection between these theatrical displays of consumer panic and our need to outwit the reckoning we fear is coming to our species. It’s as if our hubris and moral failings, having finally caught up with us, required a fresh narrative for us to fantasize about surviving. I may be extending the metaphor a bit far, but I’m tempted to imagine that hoarding toilet paper and cleaning supplies has as much to do with wiping our psyches clean as it does the surfaces our bodies and homes.
See what one semester of psychology will do in the mind of an art major?
Seriously though, in this new culture of panic that’s evolving around Covid 19, there are some big issues regarding the role of broadcast and social media in amplifying our collective fear. In the pretentious parlance of digital culture, the word “viral” has shed any pejorative connotation. When something “goes viral” we admire it for tapping into the zeitgeist, if only momentarily. But when a virus goes viral — in real life and simultaneously in the media — things get complicated. The transition dynamics of the infection, utterly masked by a symptom-free incubation period, make its spread invisible. Meanwhile the churn of the news cycle demands constant updates and convincing analysis, even when there isn’t any. What gets served up is incomplete, and fogged in by a cloud of conflicting opinion. We’re long on urgency and short on insight. We want answers that just don’t exist yet, and when we don’t get them, fear blooms in the gaps in our knowledge.
Every morning I check in on all my news outlets to try to best determine what to think or how to act. But there’s never quite enough clarity in the reports. Our leaders, the ones trying to make America Great Again, have proven untrustworthy. Inept. Their “post-truth” politics may work at advancing certain biases to their supporters, but they are useless at helping stop an epidemic. The folks truly in the know — statisticians, scientists, epidemiologist and public health professionals — agree that we should limit our potential exposure by staying home as much as possible and practicing social distancing. Good. That’s a thing we can do. We’re all on board. Those of us of a certain income, anyway. But there is still some dissonance in the nuances of the expert’s perspectives. Enough that I end up not knowing how to feel, which probably shouldn’t even be a factor, but it is. Emotions fuel our motivation. Hope and fear take different paths. Should I be paranoid or emboldened? Should I keep making paintings or update my will? How much toilet paper do I actually need?
Living with this degree of uncertainty is taking a big toll on all of us. The competing projections of our prognosticators compel us to make our own best guess as to how to live with all of this ambiguity. Covid 19 is not just a public health crisis, It’s a crisis of information management on a personal level. And that’s just for those of us scared enough to pay attention, or who have the access to the story as it unfolds. We are each on our own to decide a course of action, but we are not rudderless. And we can help look out for each other.
What I’m hoping for soon is a little crack in the clouds. A ray of hope to illuminate a path out of despair. While there are certainly dark days ahead, I’m going to resist normalizing dread. A fearful population is easier to control. And if that prospect doesn’t give you chills, remember that fear is also super bad for your spleen. All of your guts, actually.
I don’t imagine we can each just will ourselves to stay positive. I’m prone to all sorts of random anxieties, but I find that humor certainly helps. It’s a bridge out of desperation. More importantly, we still have each other, and that’s our best hope out of the darkness — provided we keep a safe distance of six to eight feet between us, if you don’t mind. And as far as toilet paper shortage, well there’s always that phone book they toss on your stoop every year. Just tear out a page, wad it up a few times until it gets real soft. Or grab that old sponge from under the sink. Rinse it and toss it in the microwave between uses. It should work out just fine.
