In April 2020, we're coming to grip with a new normal of radical societal change to manage the COVID-19 pandemic. We avoid social gatherings, work from home, learn from home, and cope from home. As a society, we have made a cooperative agreement to get through this together, each of us doing our part by surrendering certain freedoms for the sake of the common good.
In the news and on social media, experts talk about social distancing to flatten the curve. We also need to think about the curve of stages we will inevitably experience as we reconcile with these radical changes to our lives, especially because we don't know how long this situation will last.
We accept the new normal, some more eagerly than others.
As the days continue, the novelty wears off. Acceptance gives way to restlessness, irritability, loneliness, ban fatigue, and depression.
I know. I've experienced something a little like this before.
Life in Iraqi Kurdistan
I taught English in Erbil, Iraqi Kurdistan from 2005 to 2014. It's true that Kurdistan is a lot safer than other parts of the country, but there was still great uncertainty about the security situation, particularly in my first year there. In 2004, a double suicide bombing killed 117 people. In the month before my arrival, there had been a bombing near the dormitory where I would be living.
Consequently, during 2005, when I was working with a group of four other English teachers under strict protocol from our NGO, my teammates and I had to surrender our freedom of movement, going only to work and then home.
It was a decision that we knowingly made when we signed up to teach in Iraq. But that's not to say it was always easy.
I learned many lessons during that time about how to thrive in a monotonous routine with severe restrictions on personal freedoms. These lessons never had much application outside of that brief unique moment in my life--until now. I've collected a number of those lessons here, and I hope they may be somewhat helpful to anyone struggling with life in the time of corona.
Pursue Social Laughter
In Iraq, it's pretty easy to tell if someone is from Baghdad; they have a great sense of humor.
People from Baghdad have experienced hell on earth. The horrors are well-documented, but what is lesser known is how they've learned to cope. They've cultivated a dark sense of humor over generations, and all the more in the years since the 2003.
I learned early on in Iraqi Kurdistan that laughter was more than just an emotional accessory. Laughter became a necessity, like food and water, to manage significant challenges posed by our living environment.
During one period, the electricity in our home would go out every night at 6:00 pm. This was not unusual; Iraq has regular power cuts as a result of multiple factors, including American bombings of civilian infrastructure in 1991 from which the country never recovered.
Sitting in the dark, around the subtle glow of a kerosene heater, my roommates and I would tell stories about the day and laugh for hours.
We'd joke about cultural faux pas we committed, about our failed attempts to master the language, about our collective social awkwardness, about senior university administrators and their condescending overtures, about the humiliation of having to beg for our salaries at the end of each month only to have the HR rep pull thousands of dollars in cash out of his pocket to pay us (I still have lots of unanswered questions about that). We'd fantasize about what we missed the most about the U.S., and about what we'd do first when we got back. We'd sing oldies but goodies that reminded us of home.
At the time, this spontaneous ritual was more about fending off boredom than anything else, but it also served to keep us all uplifted, resilient, and sane.
It really is true that laughter is a powerful medicine. According to one study, social laughter triggers endogenous opioid release in the brain. It increases endorphins and fights the stress hormone cortisol to improve mood and increase tolerance for pain.
During the social isolation of the COVID-19 pandemic, I am regularly reminded of the importance of social laughter to maintain a healthy mental balance. One place I turn to for this is my family, but I also turn to Facebook. By far, the most hilarious memes about the current situation I see are posted my Iraqi and Kurdish friends.
Learn to Manage Uncertainty
One of the most challenging aspects of the stay-at-home orders is the uncertainty about how long they will last. Many of us are uncomfortable with uncertainty in the U.S., but in other parts of the world, people learn to cope with the weighty uncertainties in their lives because they have no other choice.
When I lived abroad, uncertainty was a regular part of life. Would we have electricity at the same time the public water filled the pipes? If the timing was off, we wouldn't be able to pump the water into the tanks on the roof of the house. On more than one occasion, the timing was off for days, and we had to order a water truck delivery.
At the end of the month, would we get paid or be told to come back next week? Would our residency cards be renewed? Was the security situation stable? In June 2014, after ISIS took over Mosul, the lines for gasoline in Erbil, an hour from Mosul, were kilometers long. People waited for hours, sometimes days, to fill up their cars and jerry cans. The uncertainty was palpable. Would ISIS attempt to invade Erbil? Would the defenses hold or fold? Should we stay or flee?
In situations of uncertainty, the people who thrive tend to do a few things really well. They accept the situation, adapt accordingly, focus on what they can control, surround themselves with a small group of trusted people to commiserate constructively but not obsessively, and remain clear-headed. They are able to make sound decisions under stress because they manage their fears with self-awareness and perspective.
I wish I was speaking of my own experience, but I'm not. I tended to ruminate constantly over the situation rather than accept it, commiserate obsessively, focus on things that were impossible to control, and cloud my thought-life with dread. But I did observe people who thrived in similar circumstances. As we enter the uncertainty of the pandemic, I fondly remember their poise and inner fortitude, and I hope to follow their example as well.
[A version of this article was written in April 2020.]