Peace in the Chaos, And The Banality of Collapse

One onion that

One onion that is yellow in hue. The beef chuck weighs one pound and a half. a pair of carrots that are dense. There are some potatoes. A can of superb black beer.

I was struck with an odd sense as I watched my partner analyze the recipe that we have decided to use for tomorrow. The food that we have chosen is a substantial beef stew from our Dungeons & Dragons rulebook.

We've been grinning, laughing, and going about our day as if nothing has occurred.

We have been discussing what we would want to do for supper this week; we are wrapping gifts for his family's Christmas party, and I have been considering what I would prepare for an offering for my own religious holidays. All of these things are taken care of by us.

As we are going to be going grocery shopping anyhow, we have decided to go out to dinner today. We haven’t picked the restaurant yet. By the length of time it took us to agree on the stew, it is evident that neither one of us is very competent at making hasty decisions.

I make this trip to visit him a few times a year, traveling down into the United States to spend a few weeks with the person I love and meet with the family I’ve been accepted to join.

In his home, I have claimed shelter. With him, I am not in danger. It’s tranquil here, except for his neighbors upstairs, who can’t manage to go five minutes without lifting anything heavy.

Outside his home, though, there’s turbulence growing. Political squabbles between our two countries are escalating to a fever pitch, and a trade war is on the horizon.

Our nations are being driven apart, and the two of us can only grip on to each other all the more passionately.

It seems bizarre to go from writing and sharing my ideas on all the commotion and then settling down to appreciate the peace of our temporarily shared abode.

A pot simmering on the stove, probably with soup or stew.

We buy each other nerdy cookbooks as gifts every year for Christmas and birthdays. It’s our little custom. Photo by Gaelle Marcel on Unsplash

The news cycle is packed with unpleasant headlines. War, strife, sickness, rejection of scientific facts and essential health measures, ruined alliances, and full disorder at the upper echelons of authority.

But here, sitting on the couch in my partner’s living room, everything feels ordinary. We’ve got our shopping list written down, he’s finishing up some daily quests in Final Fantasy XIV, and I’m enjoying a glass of Dr. Pepper while I type.

There’s snow on the ground outside, the vestiges of the snowstorm that dogged my steps on the last portion of my voyage down from Canada. The roads were a disaster; thank god I was on a bus. I wouldn’t want to drive it.

I’m listening to the wobbly ‘click’ of the nearby lampshade swaying back and forth as the heating vents force warm air into the room. It’s chilly enough that I need a blanket for my legs.

The neighbor stomps by overhead, the floor vibrating in his wake.

The sights and noises of the flat are the same as normal. And yet, everything in the outer world has transformed. It’s an odd feeling, an itch in the back of my mind even as I relax into the tedium of daily existence.

I think that’s what’s upsetting me about it. It feels like things should be different.

Hot chocolate in a terra cotta cup.

Hot chocolate makes everything better. | Photo by Rachael Gorjestani on Unsplash

That’s the thing with history; if there’s one thing that has always been true, even at the darkest and most depressing of times, it’s that life carries on.

Humans are resilient animals. We’re capable of enduring the unfathomable.

Even if conditions are poor — and we know full well they’re going to become harsher — we still need to compile a shopping list and walk out to purchase the food.

We still need to conduct our daily quests, read our favourite books, concentrate on our writing and pick what we want to have for supper.

I believe part of it comes down to keeping despondency at bay. If everything feels normal, then it mustn’t be too horrible. It’s a means of keeping optimism for the future alive; as long as we need to prepare next week’s meals, then we’re confident there will be a following week.

Even throughout the Great Depression, individuals were posting recipes.

All in all, it’s probably a good thing that we’re able to crack jokes. It’s a good thing that I can fall over and wheeze with merriment while my spouse scrambles to collect all of the goods spilling out of the overcrowded cupboard above the fridge.

It’s a good thing that we can browse between two separate recipes for Christmas dessert, agree that we can’t make judgments and flip a collectible Warhammer coin to select which one we’re bringing to the holiday party.

It’s the basic things that keep us sane, even when the world outside is anything but.