I’m one of the many that wears a mask with some degree of annoyance, resenting the imposed strictures that keep me from being able to show the world a smile. So, I’ve been thinking a lot about masks lately, their historic place, their fashion, their aesthetic, what it feels like to be behind one, and what they teach us about communicating.
The first appearance of the word “mask” in English was in the 1530s, taken from the French word, masque,referring to a covering which could hide or guard the face. But the use of masks goes back several millennia, first used in religious ceremonies wherein the wearer was vested with unique authority. During the Black Death (mid-14th century), masks were used by doctors as a form of protection – just as they are today by doctors in Operating Rooms. In Renaissance Venice, masks were used to protect the identity of the wearer as he/she engaged in promiscuous or decadent activities. And many women of the Arab world employ masks, in the form of burkas, as an act of modesty.
Outside of Halloween dress-up as a kid, I’ve never worn a mask and find the experience isolating, even lonely. It’s an extremely visible reminder that life is more tenuous than we thought, our mortal bodies far more vulnerable than we wish to acknowledge.
I grew up studying people’s lips. If my parents were angry with me, their lips would change color from being drawn tighter. Lip-observing was a fast and easy way to intuit when I needed to make myself invisible.
I never realized how much I still depend on lip-observing to read someone’s emotional state – until masks became ubiquitous and lip-observing impossible. Now I’m discovering a slower, more subtle, but far deeper way of observing people: through their eyes. Most of the time, people don’t engage with each other through eye contact, most especially strangers; but when they do, and most especially if all distractions from the rest of the face are rendered invisible, the eyes really do provide a window to the soul.
On any given week, the greatest number of strangers I encounter is on Saturday morning when I visit our local Farmers’ Market. I’ve probably been there 1000 times (over the course of 25 years). It brings me enormous joy. The farmers there, whom I know and see regularly, share smiles with me that I have come to cherish. I consider those as a part of the repertoire of love that I am privileged to accumulate in my life. Over the years, there have also been many, many fellow customers that I have smiled to and chatted with They, in turn, have returned smiles to me. These folks were strangers and still are strangers; yet we have shared a small slice of humanity with together. Even so, I can’t remember a single one of these brief encounters.
On the other hand, and much to my surprise, in the 2 + months that we’ve all donned masks, there have been several times a stranger in the market has looked me straight in the eye. It might be only two seconds, but I can recall these seconds. More than just communicating the joy of being out in the open air buying fresh food, it is as if they are uploading a piece of their autobiography to me.
One of the extremely aggravating aspects of this precise moment in history is that we cannot make plans, and not just the obvious ones about travel. What about career? Millions of people are going to have to make career changes because of the pandemic. Many more will simply opt to. We all have our personal barometers out trying to gauge what direction the sociological winds are blowing. The chief question being “How can I be relevant in the post-Corona world.” The companion questions, including “What am I able to do?” and “How do I train myself for something else?” adding to the general anxiety that is palpable all around us.
My prayer is that I learn the lessons this pandemic is teaching me. Not just evaluating how to live my life, make a living, and be a contribution to society, but learning to look people in the eye long enough to share “downloads” of each other’s autobiography. My daily prayer these days is that I be adaptable. How nice that some of that adaptability may add more depth, complexity, and love to my life. That would indeed be a silver lining.