I feel like a bad pandemic friend, and I’m letting that be for now.
This post is by Claire Shorall and was original publish on November 17, 2020 on Topknot’s blog.
I’m not the friend I want to be right now, but I’m also not doing everything I can to change it. Like with many other things in these unprecedented times, I’m learning to live with the discomfort and release feelings of guilt for not showing up as my best self right now. I could be identifying actions and accountability, but sometimes sitting in the unease and mourning what has changed is the action.
Here’s how I got here…
I’m not one for phone calls. There’s something about a disembodied voice that never quite captures me like an in-person conversation. I do a lot to create focus for myself. I wear wireless headphones and leave my phone on the other side of the room; I’ll shut my eyes and try to envision the person’s face; I actively listen.
Unsurprisingly, I do better over video calls. I like seeing people’s faces. But even those conversations often fall flat. They lose a dimension — it’s 2d, if you will.
Despite the shortcomings of these two modes of communication, I use them a lot. And I have repetitive conversations. Typical fodder includes company updates, recent meals cooked, and political rants. My closest friend and I exchange sleep tracker data, so there’s that.
Does any of this sound familiar? For what it’s worth, I’m not under the impression that my experience is unique.
Yearning to be near
I’ve always actively tried to be a great friend. The happiness and wellbeing of those I cherish matter immensely to me, and I do what I can to support them. This is still true right now, but I’ve realized that in order to show up as the friend I want to be, I need not only connection, but closeness.
Closeness to me is connectedness that is physical and emotional. It’s finishing each other’s sentences; sitting so near that your knees bump as you shift your weight; smelling hints of a story trapped in the aroma of the other’s hair; being comfortable enough to fall asleep while hanging out. When I am close to someone, I’m thriving. When emotional closeness exists without the physical closeness, I second guess myself. I dwell on what’s missing and struggle to feel like myself in friendship.
Sitting with discomfort
Physical closeness is not in the cards right now. Still, I don’t like being a bad pandemic friend. We’re going through a collective trauma, and as someone who takes friending seriously I’d like to do more. But I am doing something I would have never let myself do before this year: I’m sitting with the discomfort. Many parts of fixing my current situation are outside of my control.
The old me would be consumed by problem solver mode. I’d deny my dislike of phone calls. I’d create a schedule with friends’ names and test different versions of call: on walks, while cooking, with morning coffee.
The current me tries to make the most of a phone or video call. I deeply appreciate people who step up to schedule time to connect. I send texts when I am reminded of people. Even small touch points feel like they’re valuable. At the same time, I am coming to terms with the fact that my distance with some people during this time means that our relationship will likely be changed on the other end. It’s not defeat, but it’s what I have to give at present.
There’s only so much energy one can muster. We’re being bombarded with a lot, and the isolation that this moment calls for makes it so much worse. So, in light of this, I’m trying to be my own best friend — gentle, understanding, aware — in the hopes that when this all is over I can show up with the closeness — and hugs! — that all of the wonderful people in my life deserve.
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