Masks: Wearing, Growing, Fitting

Years ago, in that way that could mean last week or 1997, I read "Shooting an Elephant" by George Orwell. (Yes, that George Orwell.)  

In the tale, a British man is a police officer stationed in Burma/Myanmar. He knows that he is hated by the people--the face of the colonizer--and it is clear this bothers him.  A situation arises where he has power, the same power he has always had, but now saturated not only with the responsibility to those around him but also their expectation of his behavior.

He needs to make a terrible choice, struggling with who he is: the man who does the right thing or the man who is pressured into something he knows is wrong but might bring him slightly less hatred.  

While examining his own thoughts, the man says, "He wears a mask, and his face grows to fit it."

Years ago--both yesterday and 1982--this line struck me.  The ways we wear masks, change who we are depending on the audience, the situation, the time. 

Then COVID hit and it took on all new meaning. 

The one-year mark is fast approaching, and it is humbling to see how the science world has mobilized in the face of great suffering and criticism to accomplish astonishing feats. 

And it is hard, so very hard, to look at humanity and see that so many care so little for others. 

How little do we value the elderly? 

How little do we care for the marginalized?

How little do we care for the poor?

And then the schools. 

The world seems only to care for teachers went they are martyrs and sacrifices. Not Arthur Dimmesdale with his bloody scourge kept closeted away; no, nothing less than a public flailing will do. 

But those teachers! If only the world could see what they have been able to accomplish.  What they have tried, what they have learned, what they have created. And all in the midst of their own grief, their own struggle. 

I wonder if we will ever look back and collectively grasp just how much educators tried, failed, and tried again during this time? 

It has been hard to see how harsh we all are with each other.  

It is hard to see how little grace we are willing to distribute. 

This morning, getting out of my car, I put my mask on.  Four days ago, I got my second vaccination. The flooding relief was real.  The fear that I could still transmit to the as-yet-unvaccinated is just as real. 

So on goes the mask. 

I hope that this mask, this real, tangible thing, is a reminder of that metaphorical mask we always wear.  I wish that it worked the same way. 

We wear a mask, and our face grows to fit it. 

We grow to care more. Be more compassionate. Have more concern. Give more grace. 

We listen to science more and hear those who are struggling. 

I can't change what anyone else does or how they react, but I hope that this terrible time, this time that now finally seems to at least be finite, immeasurable but still finite, will have softened my heart and strengthened my compassion.  

Long after this mask is put away, I will have to live with the choices I have made, the ways I have treated people, those unkindnesses I have allowed to creep into my grieving heart. 

Long after this mask is put away, I will still be the person I was while I wore it. 

This mask says that I care about those around me. That I listen to science and trust experts. That my community is important to me. 

Years from now, I hope my face will have grown to fit this mask.