Whilst so much is still in flux out there in the world, many of us are beginning to return tentatively to the petrified skeleton of our social lives, holding some jump leads. Besides the physiological benefits of getting out and seeing people again, the partial resumption of socialising also offers much-needed relief from excessive introspection: time to try out that new laugh I’ve been working on during lockdown.
But with an ever-growing checklist of legal dos and don’ts, and a limited number of rendezvous locations, when will we return to the social rough-and-tumble of our carefree pre-Covid days?
The partial resumption of socialising offers much-needed relief from excessive introspection
One thing gone, at least for the foreseeable future (though what’s really foreseeable, these days?), is spontaneity. You could argue its days have been numbered for a while, what with London’s vast expanses, and the money needed to traverse, and then mingle, within them. But arranging a meet-up in June 2020 requires Victorian levels of planning: ‘I’ll be passing your house next Saturday afternoon between lunchtime and tea, will you be in?’
Then there’s the delicate matter of whom you choose to mingle with. When will we be comfortable allowing strangers back into our social circles? I can just imagine the conversation, ‘Do you mind if my mate X comes along?’, ‘Um, sure… but have they been tested?’ Clique-forming becomes disturbingly naturally to humans – this will only make it worse, with the added tinge of moralistic judgment.
I’ve already seen it happening among friends: a plan is being hatched but then someone, who maybe hasn’t been social distancing very strictly, is mentioned and everyone starts talking in hushed tones about the risks involved in rubbing shoulders with this potential germ-bomb. Risk doesn’t usually make for good vibes.
And what about your grandparents, even your parents? Will we feel comfortable hanging out with them, let alone other physically vulnerable people, knowing we might be giving them a virus? Intergenerational divisions have been widening in this country for years, delineated along economic, social and political lines. Given the need to isolate older people from the general populace, surely these will become more pronounced. It’s already rare to see a grandparent and grandchild out together, how long until it’s unthinkable?
Gone were my lightning quick rejoinders and witty asides, now replaced with a leaky faucet of ‘ums’ and ‘ahs’
Before the current pandemic, there was an epidemic of loneliness. Able to work, eat, shop, bank, gamble, even date without coming face-to-face with another person, we’ve made loneliness highly ergonomic, while turning it into a public health crisis. Now the slipper’s on the other foot, and the Eleanor Rigbys, Fortnite junkies and skunk zombies have been proved right. Will we be able to coax them from their hazy solitude? How long before we’re all subsumed into their sallow ranks?
I had myself down as gregarious but, three months outta the game, and I’m slightly nervous about my return. The beginning of lockdown brought an onslaught of Zoom quizzes and FaceTimes. I joked terribly about how I’d never been so social, while at the same time struggling to perform on the new medium. Gone were my lightning quick rejoinders and witty asides, now replaced with a leaky faucet of ‘ums’ and ‘ahs’. I found the whole thing exhausting – something to do, I’m sure, with the fact that your mind is tricking your body into thinking you are in the presence of another, but your body having none of it.
Today, I’m a new man: the Gore Vidal of virtual hangouts, if you will, I sashay onto the screen with consummate grace, make a few wry remarks, down a bottle of wine, and I’m in bed before midnight. It’s the IRL socialising that now flummoxes me. I went to meet a few friends on Primrose Hill and found myself staring searchingly into each of their eyes whenever the terrifying spectre of one-on-one conversation loomed into view. Where was the little mirror in the corner, showing me what they could see? And that weirdly liberating disembodiment that comes with this third-person view.
I’m being facetious, of course. I can’t wait to get back to crowded pubs and sweaty clubs, to sojourney weavers and random runnings into. But, as has been the way since I came of age (and, really, what is adulthood if not gaining creative control over one’s own calendar?), I want to socialise on my terms. Right now that means carefully selecting the time, place and persons with whom you’re meeting. Lame but necessary in avoiding those aforementioned bad vibes.
Today, I’m a new man: the Gore Vidal of virtual hangouts, if you will, I sashay onto the screen with consummate grace
Going out has always been about risk versus reward, but usually the scariest thing in the former category was not having enough money to get home again. Now we have more fatal considerations to take on board. On the other hand, the potential rewards have always been endless. I’ve been thinking about how many romances have been scuppered because of this cessation. Even, weirdly, all the business partners who I’ll never meet – though I like to think of that more as Bezoses and Musks loss rather than any timesaving apps not gained.
Poets, philosophers and scientists have spent millennia discussing the relative merits of solitude. Most have concluded that, as with many things in life, equilibrium is what we should strive for. If you can’t be truly happy in your own company, it’s probably unlikely you’ll reach that state in others’. A sweaty stranger’s hug, a friend’s uncomfortable garden table late at night, a winter lock-in, a dark cinema screen – all these things are waiting for us round the corner. Break yourself back in gently.
