In thinking through my contingency plans for the next few weeks of the Covid-19 crisis I have realised something about myself:
- I have a high level of tolerance for risk taking
- BUT I also feel a high level of responsibility for those around me.
The nature of risk
We tend to talk about risk as if it is a constant, easily verifiable thing that applies equally to all people in all situations. But it isn’t: what might feel risky for me, may not feel risky to you. Gambling on ‘risky’ investments might be a reckless thing for a person on a low income, but be a reasonable gamble for someone with enough savings to mitigate a loss. But what if that low income investor had chanced upon some information about that ‘risky’ investment that proved that it was actually a safer bet than it appeared to be to everyone else? Would this make that investor more or less of a risk taker compared with other investors who were not privileged with that data?
What fascinates me is how different individuals take risks in different parts of their lives. We tend to talk about people who are risk-takers as if that’s who they are, across all functions, all the time. But we all know people who take risks in some parts of their lives and not in others. Who are politically and intellectually conservative, but who engage in the physical risk of extreme sports. The cardigan-wearing accountant who nicks of to a B&D dungeon for his weekly session of sexual risk taking. The responsible school teacher who takes party drugs on the weekend. Back in my performing days, I used to know a couple of playwrights who were shy, quiet, and earnest to talk to – not social risk takers. But their creative output was risky in the extreme; there was no taboo they wouldn’t tackle, no one these gentle, sensitive men wouldn’t dare to offend. I used to wait for the cops to bust into our performances and arrest them.
Who gets to weigh up what constitutes risk anyway?
When I wrote the first draft of this blog in mid-March (and – God – that feels so long ago right now), my perception of the pandemic was one of crisis, but there were those who thought differently. My Twitter feed was full of people duking it out as to whether it is too risky to send their kids to school or not. I work in the tertiary sector part of the time; many in that sector felt that our society was running an awful risk in boosting the numbers of community transmission of the virus by letting campus life go on as normal, but our government steadfastly maintained that it was safe to keep schools and universities open (at time of writing Australian universities have switched their teaching delivery to online). Who you believe – and therefore what you see as a risky idea – depends on which politicians, experts, or news platforms you trust.
In many areas of my life – career, politics, creatively – I am a calculated risk taker. I weigh up my chances, make a conscious decision to own the consequences, and try stuff where – yes – I am prepared to cop a failure if it all doesn’t work out. Curiosity is a strong hallmark of my nature, and compels me to try different things. Socially, although I still find interactions with people interesting and enriching, I am becoming less of a risk taker as I get older; my essentially introverted nature is far from being misanthropic but is running out of puff as far as putting myself out there. I now feel social failure more badly than I ever have and, as a result, tend to play it safer.
Risk versus responsibility
In weighing up whether or not I should be exposing myself to Covid19 by going into crowded public places, I find that, while acknowledging that there is a fair and growing risk that I could be infected, I am not especially frightened of being so or of the consequences to me if I am. I am happy to fancy my chances. BUT the very idea that I could turn into a walking contaminant and pass the virus onto others terrifies me. What if I infected someone elderly or immunosuppressant with Covid-19? What if they died?
My father, who is 88, has practically begged me to go and stay with him and my sister in their quiet country town until this all blows over. The notion has its temptations – they live a cruisey and quietly comfortable existence. But no way am I going. If I transmitted Covid-19 to my Dad and perhaps to others in their town I couldn’t live with myself.
So this has had me thinking that many of us are probably faced with finding this balancing act between what our personal appetite for risk might be and our personal values about what we owe to our community. This might be further complicated by choices forced by external conditions: the casual worker who needs to do shifts to pay the rent, but who feels that they owe it to everybody else to stay at home alone; the parent who doesn’t want to send their kids to a potentially infection-rife school, but who can’t find anyone to mind them while that parent is at work.
It seems to have died down now, but the shoppers who pushed their way past other consumers so that they could pile their trolley high with hundreds of toilet rolls, what drove them? To so greedily and frantically hoard stuff suggests thinking that must be compelled with some kind of fear, some perception of risk, although I don’t pretend to understand what that might be. But their selfishness suggests a low level of responsibility to others in their community. I don’t know.
So as you make your plans, and consider the level of social distancing, or plan your activities for self-isolation, reflect on where you are at as a risk taker. And reflect on how that influences your decision making.
Speaking of responsibility to the world around us, here is an article suggesting some citizen science projects you can get involved in.
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