The year of alienation
For the author Karina Lübke, the past Corona year was not only months of alienation but also months of loss of joy. The pandemic is gnawing at the nerves. How this world feels to her now and how she is doing, she has written down for SoSUE.
It is the year two after Corona. I hadn't seen or spoken to one of my oldest friends for a long time. Now we had been talking on the phone for a good hour, landline, old school, and were really getting into it when she suddenly said fervently: "Thank you for still being you!" Unfortunately, I immediately knew what she meant. "Yes, I'm also glad you're still you," I said, "right now you really never know who you have on the other end of the line, even if you thought you knew people well. It's so creepy."
2021: The year of alienation. Unfortunately, often also the year of unfriending – whether on social media or in personal acquaintances. On my distance list are already quite a few names that might otherwise have even been on my party invitation list, albeit pretty far down. Luckily, I haven't lost any really good friends so far. But some have drifted out of my life who suddenly blurted out things and opinions I would have considered unthinkable from them and in general. For example, the Facebook acquaintance who wanted to privately message me the happy news that Corona "actually" doesn't exist: All fake to scare us, lock us up, and manipulate us! But luckily – as much as she could reveal to me – Donald Trump was currently gathering the "white troops" who had been forming underground since Kennedy's death to save the free world. This year, even. You could research all of this on the internet.
Suddenly I realized: This was no joke. I was at a loss for words. Then I very cautiously stepped back from the psychological abyss that had just opened up. Quantum theory or not, this was clearly one alternative reality too many. "I think we have no common ground here. All the best," I said carefully. "Yeah, just think I'm crazy! You'll see I'm right!" she wrote back to me before I blocked and deleted her.
And once again thought my mantra OM - Without Me!
The great exhaustion, the aggressions, the boring routines, the collective confusion: Am I the only one noticing Easter eggs stuck everywhere in front yard bushes, at the sight of which I briefly wonder if Easter has already been or is still coming? What year is it again and what season? The fixed structures through festivals and holiday trips, events and invitations, which are the stable framework of every year, whether it is lean or rich in experiences, have osteoporosis. Realities crumble. Never have I found "stability" sexier than today. This has been going on for far too long—and far too much is going completely wrong. On a large and small scale, from the crazy pandemic management by the government to the everyday shopping at the supermarket.
After all, behind my FFP2 mask I can now nonverbally express such a nuanced repertoire of disapproval that I could become the greatest post-pandemic silent film star, should that ever be in demand again! At the moment, I'm really glad that no Botox restricts the facial expressiveness of my upper face. Classics would be, for example, "The ice-cold distance-holder look with raised eyebrow," "Squinted eyes with a steep frown," the "Abrupt turn with a defensively extended hand," the "contemptuous head shake with annoyed snort," and of course "Annoyed eye-rolling with a clear finger pointing at the distance marks in the checkout area," which many now seem to consider purely decorative floor coverings. Usually, this dramaturgy is enough. But about every third day, it isn't, and then I've had enough, really enough. Then someone behind me boldly places their groceries right next to mine on the checkout belt, even though I haven't even taken all of mine out of the cart yet. The guy stood not even a baby-arm's length away from me. My annoyed snort and the angry look slid right off the man in his cloak of ignorance. So I said it: "Would you please step back and keep your distance? You're definitely not going to be faster if you crowd me like this!" The guy looked at me as if I were totally crazy but at least took a decent step back. I quickly put the rest of my groceries on the checkout belt. But since men just don't like being told off without having the last word, he then loudly said: "Why do you have to get so upset? Everything's fine!" I abruptly turned back to him. "OH, EVERYTHING'S FINE? REALLY? IS THE PANDEMIC OVER AND I'M JUST A DUMMY WHO DIDN'T NOTICE?" I dramatically threw both arms into the air. "HALLELUJAH! LET'S CELEBRATE! DON'T YOU WANT TO SHARE THE GOOD NEWS WITH EVERYONE?"
So, finally I had enough space around me. Uninterrupted, I packed my remaining things onto the checkout belt, paid, and left the store. Outwardly calm, inwardly trembling. Damn, how much longer will this go on? What if you can no longer look forward to "normality" returning soon? What if THAT is the new normal? Even in the subconscious, Corona has seeped in since last February: In my nightmares, I suddenly realize with horror that I am standing in the supermarket and have forgotten my mask - the contemporary version of the classic "Suddenly I realize I am naked in public" dream. Or the other people in my dream scenarios now quite naturally wear masks. It's as if you have lived in a foreign country so long that you begin to dream in its now familiar language. Back then in England, I found that great. With Corona, I am simply horrified. I wonder if others feel the same and if it will ever go away again. On the escape route home, I passed a toy store and automatically looked into the shop window, searching for something sweet, mood-lifting. My goodness, since when did even stuffed animals look so depressed?
The almost only good thing about being an adult is that at some point you believe you have understood how the world basically works. At least enough to be able to create a somewhat successful life in your little corner of the universe. To lull yourself and those you love into security. Now there are hardly any certainties left, at most weighing risks against each other. By now, we are professionals at self-testing. My daughter, whom I haven't seen since Christmas, called me and told me that before her internship in the emergency room, like all medical students, she was spontaneously vaccinated. I was relieved, then I cautiously asked: "With what?" "With AstraZeneca. The weekend I felt really quite bad, but now everything is okay." Tears immediately ran down my face anyway. Why AZ, for such a young woman? Weren't there new studies...? Just one week later, the vaccine was then only recommended for over-60s. Was I worried about her and her cerebral veins? YES! Was I relieved that she at least had SOME vaccine protection in the hospital? YES!
These constant paradoxes cannot be resolved right now; they can only be endured. How I wish for clarity! My joy of life is often flat, and my concentration is shaky. But that’s supposed to be normal: “Languishing,” a psychological and emotional standby state between the poles of joy of life and depression, is said by the New York Times to already be the feeling of life in 2021. There is a lack of anticipation for the future. Of positive visions. Whoever nowadays wants to reach for the stars has to bend down and put their hand on the earth. Sometimes I just drive to the sea for a few hours. Breathe. Walk. Wind in the face. Sand in the hands and shoes. Breathe deeper. See further.
I have always had the ability and high sensitivity to somewhat look into the future, to anticipate trends and societal changes; that is the foundation of my profession. Now, for months, I too have been flying by sight through the brain fog, abruptly avoiding obstacles and cliffs. Only slowly, finally, with declining incidence rates and rising sun, does a silver lining appear on the horizon. Still, I can’t believe we are not further along—when we actually know so much more, could draw on so many international experiences for help. In general, where is the great global learning? The better understanding of each other, the solidarity with one another, the compassion? The opposite seems to be the case. To be social, new studies say, requires a real social life, contact with real people. That trains empathy, inspires, stimulates vitality. In contrast, isolated for a longer time, one begins to withdraw from the natural humanity, until one hardly feels the lack or need for it anymore. “FOGO” – Fear Of Going Out – means the fear of re-encountering normality in and with normal life. Sometimes I fear the only thing that will be left to us “afterwards” could be post-traumatic stress disorder. Especially the children. I heard from a friend that her ten-year-old son was allowed to return to his school for the first time since November; he was completely beside himself with excitement and joy to see everyone again—only to then have to write a grade-relevant math test in the third period. How crazy is that, please? Screw the grades, forget this totally messed-up “school year,” just don’t pretend that all this can be carried out normally, because nothing is normal—and the German school system was already long outdated before Corona. Why isn’t this turning point caused by the pandemic being used worldwide as a chance for a fundamental update?
I feel like I'm running a mass marathon I never signed up for. It feels like we're already at kilometer 58 because the finish line keeps getting pushed further away. But stopping is not an option either. When you go through hell, keep going: keep shopping with distance, keep walking, keep thinking in circles, keep your anticipation and expectations low so it doesn't hurt as much when "the situation" cancels them anyway. Last year, after the initial shock of massive changes, I still had energy and motivation – hey, we can do this. Next year will be great! There's little left of that brave "It'll be okay" momentum and the excitement for the time after. But at least this time it's not my fault if my good New Year's resolutions and wishes don't come true: At the end of March, my new book "Bitte Recht Feindlich" was released, a big reason to be happy, apart from the fact that there was hardly any market left. Actually, the publisher planned to present it prominently at the Leipzig Book Fair, with readings, signings, and audience talks. I could hardly wait. Then the book fair was postponed as a precaution. A little later it was canceled. Did I understand that? YES! Was I still totally disappointed? YES! Outside of Berlin, almost all bookstores had also closed. Things could be going better.
I am fully aware that compared to "many others" I am still doing well.. As with vaccination priority, I don't fall into the top three categories of being seriously ill. But the constant state of tension actually gave me high blood pressure for a while, ME, who for decades at check-ups always got "a bit low, but that's known with you". "Why?!" I exclaimed indignantly "I have none of the risks: I'm not overweight, I've never smoked, I take contrast showers, I eat reasonably healthy, and I haven't had alcohol for almost a year! Is this the thanks? Explain it to me!" The doctor thought and diagnosed: "Many have this right now. It's... the situation. You should relax more."
We looked at each other and both spontaneously started laughing. I thought: Of course, luckily I don't have Corona, but I do have the pandemic. That's just how it is. We've been under high pressure for far too long. Then I went to relax. On the way home, I bought a bottle of champagne. To us! Hang in there! And until we see each other again, please stay who you are.
Karina Lübke first studied design at the Folkwang School and then completed the Hamburg Journalism School with Wolf Schneider. Afterwards, she became an editor and columnist ("The Real Life") at the legendary zeitgeist magazine TEMPO and has since worked freelance for, among others, SZ-Magazin, DIE ZEIT, DIE WOCHE, Stern, emotion, SALON, Myself, Brigitte MOM, and WOMAN. In between, Karina Lübke got married, raised a daughter and a son, and got divorced. She lives in Hamburg and believes she often writes better stories than life itself.
Your new book "Please Be Quite Hostile" is now available in bookstores. It's about guys and kids and childish guys, about politics, society, money, and good words. And about love – despite everything. This book compiles her best columns from the magazine BARBARA and includes new, previously unpublished texts.