A year-plus of pandemic lockdown has brought revelations a-plenty, but perhaps none more surprising than this: I no longer mind wearing a mask.
Yes, masks have robbed humanity, collectively, of the joy of seeing trillions of smiles. They occasionally deliver discomforts such as hot breath and foggy glasses. And it’s inconvenient when arriving at a store’s door to find that you’ve forgotten to pocket a mask.
Speaking of hot air and inconvenience, masks also have become an unnecessary totem of ideological loyalty such that the cable TV demagogue Clucker Tarlson last week encouraged anti-maskers to accost people who wear them.
Of course, masks’ biggest benefit is in keeping ourselves and others safe. And the knowledge that we’re safer with masks brings its own comfort, usually enough to overcome any momentary physical discomfort.
What’s more – and this is the surprise – I’ve found that masks deliver emotional comfort. Think old socks or jammies, clean sheets, warm grits with butter, a raggedy cardigan on a cold evening.
And there’s this: my mask will cover my sneer when accosted by one of Clucker’s troopers.
