The global economy is imploding, but it is difficult to care when there are people gasping for air. For the first time ever, the lines of worry on the faces of hedge fund managers occupy a smaller space in public consciousness than the blotchy indents on the faces of doctors and nurses shedding their surgical masks after yet another 48-hour shift.

This is nothing short of radical.

The virus, borderless and indiscriminate in its reach, isn't only contaminating our airways. It is unzipping our very way of life. Holding a mirror up to our bewildered faces, it dares us to look at ourselves head-on and ask: What matters?

Some of the answers are easy. Ventilators matter. How many does your country have per 100,000 people? The answer could be the difference between life and death.

Supermarket cashiers matter. "They're doing one of the hardest jobs that exist right now," said German Chancellor Angela Merkel in a recent television address. "Thank you for being there for your fellow citizens and for literally keeping the shop running."

Globalization revisited

Also visible in our pandemic-inspired looking glass: the pitfalls and possibilities of globalization. American tech titans left quivering as shuttered factories in China cut out crucial parts of their supply chains. German car giants halting production because they can't get the components they need.

At the same time: In the middle of a largely forgotten but still unresolved trade war between Washington and Beijing, Alibaba founder Jack Ma sends the United States 500,000 testing kits and 1 million face masks. The Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation invests $100 million (€90.7 million) in global efforts to detect and treat the virus. 

There has also been the news that US drugmaker Pfizer has teamed up with German firm BioNtech to cooperate on a vaccine that would, presumably, be available to all.

And let us not forget the people who have conspired to stand on their balconies to applaud the health care workers in their communities. Those who have taped signs to their front doors offering to do the shopping for neighbors who can't get out.

It's also worth noting that the pandemic has produced another casualty: FOMO, or "fear of missing out." Most commonly associated with Instagram hashtags or as the subject of think pieces aimed at a millennial audience, FOMO — previously known as "keeping up with the Jones" — is nothing less than the lifeblood of capitalism. Now it is facing an existential crisis.

It is difficult to compete with your neighbors when you are in self-isolation. The people across the way may have very clean windows. But you can only see them because your own are gleaming too. When you have purchased all the toilet paper and hand sanitizer you can store, there is little else to covet.

Shift in perception

All of a sudden, it is the things you cannot buy that become worthy of envy. The old woman happily sunning herself on her balcony. The bopping shadow of a father carrying his newborn around in a sling at night. The sound of the family next door laughing over a game of Monopoly. And you never knew your neighbor could play the piano so beautifully! Domestic contentment has acquired the credentials of a currency.

What other insights can we garner from this disaster? That there is a correlation between populist leaders and the time taken to accept reality. The extra days and weeks Trump, Johnson et al needed to bust the myth of their own exceptionalism have already cost lives.

Meanwhile, as countries including the United States rush to introduce the biggest economic stimulus packages in their history, it is worth considering that if small government offers no cure in a pandemic, it may not be the healthiest option in ordinary times either.

In the weeks and months ahead, normality will return to one country at a time. Goods will once again roll off assembly lines. Shops will reopen. The rat race will resume.

But maybe, just maybe, if we take this opportunity for self-reflection, things won't feel quite the same.