[Un]reasonably outraged by post-lockdown social awkwardness
Pre-Covid, I was a socialite (minus the wealth, prominence in high society and aristocratic background). Perhaps sociable is a better word. Being around other people invigorated me.
If we had a weekend with nothing planned, I’d ask my husband, ‘Who shall we invite for dinner?’ My mum once told me she needed a spreadsheet to keep up with my friends. This is not to boast, rather to demonstrate how much I adored (most) people and how willingly I made new friends wherever I went.
Entering a room full of strangers never bothered me either because generally speaking, I could talk under wet cement. I was confident in my ability to approach conversations with curiosity and genuine interest, ready to listen and learn something about another human.
All of the above is in past tense for a reason. I used to be that person.
Living in the world’s most locked down city through the worst of the pandemic could be to blame for the atrophying of my social skills. When life opened up, we of course raced out and did all the things we’d missed: hugged family and friends, ate out, attended shows, played sport etc. But the novelty soon wore off and I found myself hoping for a weekend with no plans so I could stay in, read a book or watch a bingeable series from the comfort of my couch.
Being around familiar people has certainly restrengthened my social muscles however, throw me into a networking scene and it has become apparent that I am far from match fit.
I attended an event a few weeks ago and was excited to put faces to names, linking in-the-flesh humans to online profiles, thrilled to be in a room with other passionate word-lovers. Although I bluffed my way through the hours, socialising and networking didn’t come as easily as it used to. Instead of electrifying, I found it draining.
And it wasn’t just me. There were quite a few stilted conversations with people I’d just met. My old trick of asking lots of questions: ‘Have you come far today?’ ‘What are you reading?’ worked on some, but not all. Perhaps they felt I was interrogating them rather than just trying to make small talk. Or maybe they were also socially rusty and unable to translate their thoughts into speech. One-word answers and awkward silences prevailed. Some didn’t ask a single question of me. The absence of the usual conversational turn-taking that builds connections was stark and I felt like I was carrying the weight of the interactions. All that led to an overwhelming desire to excuse myself and spend some quality time in the bathroom.
I also found myself overthinking things I never would have dreamed about in the past. Assessing risk (health or social) in these settings was new to me, which highlighted the ableist and privileged bubble I once lived in. With pandemic-ingrained social distancing in mind, do I offer a handshake or a hug like past-me would have? Will touching another human freak them out? (For context: I am a hugger.) How do I present myself as friendly but not overly / weirdly / inappropriately friendly? When would be the least rude time to get the hell out of this awkward conversation and grab another wine?
If you are someone who has always found social situations a tinge uncomfortable or even for those with crippling social anxiety or serious health concerns, I do not want to be flippant or dismissive of the very real fear you may hold in these group settings. But for this former social butterfly it has come as a surprise. So, if we meet and I seem a tad skittish, know that I am busy overthinking every exchange.
The only solution I can come up with is to rebuild my social stamina. Slowly. Intentionally. It’s a long-distance cross-country track with random potholes, kangaroo poo and some shin splints thrown in for good measure. But the view will be worth it in the end.
How have you found socialising in this post-lockdown world?
KOx
If you need any reassurance that we can resume our social abilities and be in close proximity to other people, check out this music festival photo from Wuhan, China.