Every now and then I have a moment of learning that happens in real time, not in retrospect, and I am completely aware it is happening as it happens. Most recently it occurred at a coffeehouse across the street from my office building. It was on my last full day at the office before we began isolation. All I wanted on my lunch break was a coffee and a cookie, preferably served with a minimum of small talk and chatter.
The barista lit up when I walked in. A sign indicating that they were only doing take-out orders, and that people could no longer use mugs brought in from home, hung on the door. The times were changing at a rapid pace. Already downtown Albany was largely deserted. Most of the places that had been open since I started my first state job in 2001 were closed. There was an apocalyptic feel in the air, a strange sense of doom and foreboding. Spring had arrived, but it was cloaked in a strange sickness. I remained upbeat, closing the door behind me and ordering a coffee and a kitchen sink cookie. If this was the last time I would be in this coffeehouse, I’d be damned if I didn’t get a cookie.
I asked how long they were going to be open and he said as long as payroll can afford to keep people on, they’d be open. I was happy to hear it. I didn’t know then that I wouldn’t be downtown for a while, and all I cared about was the supply of coffee and cookies ~ something that suddenly seemed to be in danger. He continued talking, always a risk when you open up a line of seemingly-innocuous questioning, and often why I tend not to engage. My inner voice sighed and started its usual loop of ‘Please stop talking to me, please stop talking to me, please stop talking to me’ while my real voice said empty words of agreement, my head nodded up and down, and my eyes darted elsewhere.
Then he paused as he handed me the cup of coffee. “It’s not really about business or payroll, it’s about this, and he motioned to me and our interaction, “It’s about the social connection.” My inner voice was about to make a sarcastic quip, but stopped itself.
“You’re right,” I said out loud.
I turned to go out the door and looked back, wanting to say something more, but he was already back on his phone, head down and typing away. I guess our limited social exchange was enough for the moment.
The next day, most of our office was sent home. I thought I would be relieved at the news ~ and health-wise and social-distance wise I am. Yet as much as I know it’s for the best, I’m conflicted. As I looked at Marline and later at Skip doing his FaceBook live posts to reach out, I realized how difficult it would be for everyone else, especially those for whom social interaction is such a vital and important part of their make-up. My heart broke a little as I said a quick goodbye to Sherri and Jen, and I understood that I might not see my friends for a while. Lorie drove me home and I was grateful for one last bit of time with her. Later that day, Suzie dropped off a board game ~ Life, no less ~ that I had asked for in service of a photo shoot. I had assembled a bunch of ridiculous nonsense for her and her family in a large shopping bag, so we made a quick exchange. She stood a good ten feet away as I hovered in the doorway. Maybe I need people more than I realize. Maybe I’m a bit more social than I thought I was. Maybe this is loneliness.
Any socially-anxious introvert will gladly tell you that being in isolation is not exactly a bad thing. To be honest, I was waiting for the opportunity to try it out, to see how enjoyable it would be for those of us who have to muster an enormous reserve of energy simply to get through an average day of interacting with people ~ strangers, friends and family alike. What I was not expecting was the wave of empathy and emotion that came from seeing how it affected others. People like my friends Chris and Marline and Skip are at their best when they are surrounded by friends and loved ones. They need that physical engagement and interaction, they need that connection. They need that hug. It’s what helps them thrive and survive in this crazy world.
The guy at the cafe reminded me of that, and as I headed home for who knew how long, my heart broke not for my loneliness, but for theirs.
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