Yes, I get it: it’s for my own good and for the good of others.
That doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it, and I’m not. Every time I put on one of those masks–a fun one or a more functional, medical-issue one–I feel myself scowling: brows down, ends of the mouth turned down as well. I don’t like living in a world where we have to do such things. I feel angry, sad, and frustrated that our civilization is being turned upside down by random balls of proteins.
In some ways, I almost feel ashamed wearing a mask: like, what have we become? Are we really this sick, diseased, cursed? I don’t know, but I don’t enjoy the sensation. I don’t like having to conceal my face among others.
And yes, those of you who track such things can poke at me about my “privilege” all you want. Obviously if wearing a mask in public is the worst thing I have to worry about, I’m doing pretty well. Again, that doesn’t mean I have to like it. This is not normal. After 50 years of facing the world openly, I feel like I’m now moving about like a criminal. Indeed, there are internet memes joking about the matter. When I’m in a better mood, I can even laugh at them.
But for now, I’m happier at home or taking one of my very long walks away from people, where the mask is not worn. I can be myself, not someone who needs to hide himself in shame or fear. In that mythical future, “when all this is over,” I look forward to facing the world unmasked, unafraid, unashamed. This is not a happy way to live.