I have had more conversations in the last six weeks than I’ve had in the previous six months. On the phone, over text, in Zoom rooms and Google Hangouts, on Skype and WhatsApp, and casually from a safe distance of six feet with friends and strangers. I find the depth of these conversations fulfilling both on an intellectual level and an emotional one. As someone who lives alone, they’ve become my life force.
When New York City ordered its residents to shelter-in-place seven weeks ago, I complied. I stocked my pantry shelves with staples and snacks and every conceivable variation of dried goods available. I tested my internet connection, subscribed to streaming media, and filled my library queue with books to read.
I had “working from home” down pat, and after testing out a few video conferencing tools, I felt confident I would make it for the long haul.
When reality set in
Pre-pandemic, I was a doer, a tourist in my city, a 3-4x a week yogi. I was a subway warrior and road tripper, a budding hiker. I was hosting meals and libations for folks, and visiting my tribe, who mostly lived out of state. Today, like so many others, I am a stay-at-home cat mama, cooking for a party of one, struggling to get on the mat, strolling through the 500 square feet of my living space, and feeling the quarantine nineteen take hold.
Tech and discipline aside, I was most concerned about feeling isolated from my community. I knew making natural, genuine connections would take more effort, but it was necessary to maintain sanity and perspective. My work with The Brooklyn Soloists, was my saving grace. We’ve built a strong community of local entrepreneurs and small business owners. At our first-ever Virtual Town Hall chapter meetings in March and April, twenty-five members joined the call to connect and support one another, a number that mirrored our in-person meetings.
I discovered people were starting to show up. Not only at our group meetings but everywhere. Folks with whom I had lost touch reached out, inspiring me to do the same. Friends and family members previously hesitant about video conferencing texted invitation links. Casual acquaintances checked in on Facebook and LinkedIn. My phone was buzzing and ringing with recognizable numbers (anyone else notice the lack of robocalls?). Even my (snail) mailbox got some love, as cards–the best practice of physical distancing IMHO–accompanied the bills and direct marketing.
As a communications advocate, this phenomenon brought much joy and happiness. We live in a time where communication has never been more accessible. And yet, the last few years, I had developed cynicism for anyone that casually threw around the word “busy” as an excuse for not being able to connect. The pandemic provided perspective. Maybe it was the exhaustion of the life we were living that played with our perception of time.
I’m hopeful that we will finally realize an overscheduled calendar or a night of binge-watching The Stranger Things is less critical than, say, a casual dinner or the virtual version of that dinner, with friends or family.
The renaissance has already started.
Maybe it’s because we no longer have to commute between office and home, or that folks are craving human connection as a respite from a very busy (and homeschooling-centered) family life. Whatever the reason, I am grateful for the content-rich conversations and hopeful that they will become the norm as we adapt to this new strange world.
I appreciate that we are lowering our guard to let people in, engaging in honest, meaningful conversations about life, health, work, and yes, how to make a sourdough starter.
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