You're standing there, idle. Nothing left to do. Every task checked off a dozen times, every corner of the room scanned. You stand there, idle.
You glance over at the list again, hoping to catch something you've missed.
Nothing.
You glance at the clock. 3:45. You glance back at the list.
The minutes drag on, in fact, they seem to drag you along. They drag you along, they claw at you, even as those dastardly seconds bleed out.
You glance at the clock. 3:48.
But then, action! Someone enters. You start bustling about, breaking open packs, scribbling down identification codes.
You sit down. Prepared. Serene, even.
***
We live in uncertain times. Well, of course we do. We as a species have always lived alongside uncertainty. We fretted over whether or not the weather will allow us a good harvest. We looked out into the horizons, unsure of what those ships meant. We waited, hoping that the names of our loved ones won't be listed on that damned report. We prayed that the shell, that a bullet, that death would miss us. We stared at the papers, oh those papers telling us of economic downturns, telling us of laid off workers. We have always lived in uncertain times.
The element in all of this that changes is whether or not we have a veneer, some narrative to tell that everything is fine, that everything has been predicted and is all going to plan.
We don't merely live in uncertain times. We live in openly uncertain times.
An interesting cultural response to this seems to be the return of sincerity. Contemporary artists seem to eschew the ironic detachment of the past in favour of invoking personal tales. But this does not seem to be the confidant sincerity of the past. Gone are the grand narratives, of heroes, masters, gods striking at evil. There are no masters. No gods. We are all that's left.
Perhaps this is not a New Sincerity. Perhaps this is a New Vulnerability. To dare to forgo the ironic detachment. To dare to be sincere, and in the end, to be vulnerable.
Yet at the same time, almost reflexively, we embrace irony. Irony, humour, the absurd, that which empowers the weak and disparages the powerful still remains a potent force. Because it would be foolish to be sincere to all. And in that vacuum, irony serves just as well.
We are thus all Sisyphus, doomed to hurl our bodies against that boulder, knowing that it will roll down once more all too soon. Yet once we hit the bottom, we push once more.
So what now? We have embraced the uncertain. What next?
As with all cultural changes, we must see new ideas emerge. We may have no Marx, but we do not need a Marx in our present times. We have no need for the Hayeks, the Dengs, the Thatchers of the past.
We need, to quote Bush without the slightest hint of irony, a new world order.
We know that discrimination, wealth inequality, climate change, we know that all of these issues are interconnected in a disastrous Gordian knot. We know that our current systems are woefully inadequate.
We need something other than this mess.
And so, in these times, what else can I say, but this:
Long Live Sisyphus.