20 Mar The Domestic Life

On the fine mid-March day when the government made the decision to shut down all
educational institutions (kindergartens and universities included), I found myself thinking. “OK, it’s
back to holiday mode. All kids at home and less outside work to do.” Since I’m home with my
youngest most of the week anyway, I did not feel intimidated or at a loss. I knew how to make the
transition to all-encompassing home life. Plus I knew that the stakes were high given the ubiquity of
the virus.

It was a day or two later that I experienced a sudden mood plunge and it took me by surprise.
A temporary suspension of classes is not a good enough reason to despair even if I miss my students
and colleagues (I do), I figured. What was behind that sadness then?

Here’s what I discovered: I felt miserable because I must have become exceedingly
attached to my outside-of-home self. At home, I do chores, I do things for my kids, I cook and feed
our family of five. Every single day, a similar routine resumes and it seems never-ending. There are
few pats on the back in the process. Of course, my heart leaps when I behold my husband and the
children and I hear a “thank you” now and then, but….. my outside endeavors, I realized, granted me
a peerless sense of accomplishment. Now, that venue of glory is gone.

It is our irremediable and only-too-human tendency to turn to things and projects that add outside
substance (and fluff) to our lives. We have been taught to roam streets, travel places, seek
entertainment and affirmation outside of our homes. We have forgotten that we can indeed live
meaningful lives without all that extra buzz. We can live our life in hiding and make those around us
happier and better, spoonful by spoonful, one bite at a time. Better still, even if we are too ill or
weak to make ours or anyone else’s life objectively better, God still loves us and wants us here on
earth, until we breathe our last.

Still, we are geared towards outside affirmation, all the way to death, and beyond.

Many books (most of them by well-meaning American authors) encourage readers to visualize their
own funeral in order to find motivation here and now. While I agree that it is not a bad suggestion
altogether, as it helps one to focus on the kind of legacy they want to leave behind, I think it is also
teaches us to concentrate on outside validation. Consider this (I actually thought about it about a
month ago, and the present plague makes it crystal clear, at least in Italy): there may be no time for a
fancy funeral. You might be buried in a hurry, with no town committees or teary-eyed friends
present. But that doesn’t mean that you are worth less than the many individuals whose lives are
celebrated with speeches and whose coffins are adorned with lavish flower arrangements.

I think that this time of quiet homemaking is a gift of sorts, as it reveals our value as human beings
and co-creators of the domestic universe. We have become simplified against our will, but it can do
us some good. We are now primarily kings and queens of domesticity, with no “urgent business” or
“important appointments” to keep us away from our hearth, as satisfying and edifying as they might
have seemed to us previously.