It's all right to not have strong opinions on things
It's all right to not have strong opinions on things In the age of Covid anxiety, The Guyliner argues that sometimes ambivalence can be the secret to your own happiness and the happiness of others too Justin Myers, The Guyliner Whether it's a result of digital communication overtaking verbal exchanges or simply the fact that none of us can be bothered to do any further reading, we exist in a world that prioritises absolutes. Nuance, uncertainty, doubt – they're just brands of knock-off fragrance from the market or team names on The Apprentice. You can either be right or you can be wrong and once you make up your mind you can't change it. It is amazing to watch people online or on TV or even in the queues at Sainsbury's be absolutely sure of something. No room for manoeuvre, no acknowledgment of complexity, just absolutes and extremes, everything so divisive and binary.
Maybe it's a side effect of watching lukewarm centrist uncles do Tony Blair hand movements as they explain why "we need to see both sides", which is now less about further investigation and more about giving space to harmful ideas in the name of faux-balance. Calling things a "debate" claims to provoke discussion but usually aims to enable louder, more confident, oppressive voices to shout over those fighting for a platform. Some things aren't up for debate, but that won't stop breakfast television chucking out multiple-choice polls for the hell of it. Seen something you don't like? Pretend life is nothing more than a coin and flip it. Invent an opposing view and "debate" it until you're hoarse or insist that supporting one thing means you're automatically against another.
The move toward binary thinking has affected how we react to those around us. Once the domain of slightly airy, ethereal incense enthusiasts, channeling positivity and tuning out negative energy has never been so popular. This has many upsides – an increase in body positivity, for instance, and promoting groups who may otherwise be sidelined – but in some cases it leaves little room for genuine critique. It's odd too that, often, in a climate where kindness is apparently king, the biggest peddlers of it are the meanest. Perhaps "don't be unkind if you can help it" might be more achievable. Think of those accused of "talking the country down" post-Brexit. The dreary "culture wars". An inability to accept scathing reviews or being held to account. It's like a magnified version of not mentioning to your husband that he looks awful in those salmon-pink shorts. Pointing out the bleeding obvious sees you pegged as a hater and holding it in can be very wearing. By the same token, of course, if we were to flip that coin, doom-mongering can also be tiresome. We get it: you hate stuff. If only there were room for a little more thought or it was acceptable to say, "I don't quite know how I feel about that yet" or you were allowed to lightly drag something without it being the end of the world. To pretend the world is either light or dark denies the existence of dawn or dusk.
The pandemic has fed these divisions even further. As we prepare to abandon our masks and begrudgingly breathe in the musty microbiomes of strangers on public transport and pretend queuing at the bar was ever fun, the loudest voices seem to be those at either end of the "debate". There are upspeakers, encouraging us to get back to "normal" as soon as possible. That some have found ways to turn the restrictions into something positive and enact useful life changes is dismissed as laziness or self-centredness; there's no room for the concerned or the cautious, it has to be all or nothing. In opposition, but with more in common than they might think, are the doom-mongers, who sit gripped as new variants are announced, convinced this will be the one to render vaccines useless and bring about the long overdue extinction of the human race. Anyone desperate to get back to the office or a nightclub or even stand in a mile-long queue at Pret for a crayfish and avocado sandwich is blinkered or a fool. It's all utterly exhausting and takes us nowhere other than deeper in the mud.
Is there something to be said for ticking "Don't know" on a survey? Our repulsion for the noncommittal means it can feel embarrassing to be ambivalent about Covid. To be not quite ready to get on a bus without a mask but quite keen to work at a flat surface and not on the sofa anymore. To feel it might be a bit much to swan dive into a mosh pit but excited to flirt with a stranger at a bar. To want to hug and laugh and drink and dance… so long as there are plenty of open windows and a lateral flow test waiting for you at home. There's pressure to be absolutely certain about everything, to hit milestones and targets. You start to wonder if maybe you're a wishy-washy person who can't quite make their mind up. It doesn't mean you can't be passionate or have clarity, but you anticipate change and are ready for it. The reason the world of absolutes doesn't like people who aren't quite sure is that often, if their curiosity is in good faith, they ask questions, try to amplify smaller voices, raise up those who can't see over the fence and they sow doubt among those who thought they knew everything.
It's hard to navigate a world where your uncle is absolutely convinced that coronavirus was invented in a lab by Elvis and Princess Diana but your best friend is terrified that even a walk in the park is too risky. Who do you believe? Don't be afraid not to know the answers or to take your place in the discussion, but it's worth remembering that both ceaseless upspeak and doom-mongering is driven by fear. The ones who've made their mind up and refuse to be swayed are probably frightened that they're wrong and have turned the volume up to eleven as a distraction. Don't be fooled into thinking you have to pick a side. The irony is that this laser focus on positivity and banishing negativity has the opposite effect of a balm. It feels like a sticking plaster over a crack in a bulging hot water pipe and results in even more extreme opinions spewing out, along with claims of being "silenced". Similarly, concentrating on what your old art teacher, who smoked joints in their two-tone Mini in the school car park, might call "negative energy" rarely turns out to be the catharsis you'd hoped for. You will find yourself longing for good news, desperate to like something.
The boring truth, that nobody seems to want to admit, is that the pandemic may fade to a low hum in the background, but it can also crescendo at any time. The future is a mixture of both doom and boom. We will go back to how were, but we'll never be the same again. It's over, but it'll never be over. As humans, we can ignore nuance, fluidity and uncertainty all we like, but the universe is in control. The only thing we know for sure is that anything can happen. Stand up for what you believe in, but don't compromise your safety. Edge toward the extremes for things you're passionate about and fight for what you believe in, of course, but if you're unsure, don't be afraid to stay in the middle – the air might be a little clearer, the ground steadier. As long as you're not hurting anyone or making them feel unsafe, sometimes the most important side to be on is your own.
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