I No Longer Know How to Socialize

The pandemic has ruined my people skills

I have lost the art of “how to people.” Somewhere between the onset of the pandemic’s initial lockdown and my experiences of the past two years (divorce, employee embezzlement & ensuing lawsuit, being without a home, etc.,) I became reclusive. I shed anything strictly unnecessary because it was too much to carry with me. This includes many casual friendships and several hobbies.

Before, I considered myself an extrovert. I used to see friends five to six times a week and participate in hobbies away from the house at least three to four times a week. Part of that was probably due to the fact that I had a spouse at home who never left the house, and so I had to so I could get space. Part of my excessive socialization was probably due to feeling a lack of connection in my primary relationship so I sought out connection through my friendships. And part was because I had a vibrant community of friends through dance, and I felt uplifted and energized by the time I spent with them.

Perhaps this self-imposed isolation is a side effect of my commitment to being wholly authentic, and a refusal to wear social masks that pretend I’m other than I am. Now, I find that I’d prefer to be home, ensconced on the couch with a fuzzy blanket, my pup on my lap, and a good book in hand. I enjoy spending time at home and feel grounded by living a quieter life. It’s freeing to just be me. Now, I socialize maybe once a week—twice if it’s a busy week—and I need recovery time afterward.

I hear that I’m not the only one to suddenly feel like this. Shop keepers and restaurant workers and nurses have all told me that the customers and patients they deal with have been acting more extreme. Where pleasant courtesy once dominated, many customers have become more demanding and now show less empathy for others. A year + in quarantine (and the divisiveness of the past 5 years in the political sphere) have ruined our ability to see beyond our little bubbles, and have eroded basic human decency. Interacting with others has become more stressful and exhausting and less restful.

I watched a man in a store, intending to shop for holiday gifts, scream—maskless and spitting mad—at the store worker who reminded the shopper that it’s current government (and privately-owned store) policy to wear a mask indoors to shop. The man got right in the store worker’s face, spittle flying all over her as he yelled that he refused to shop there if he had to wear a mask. She was visibly shaken but stood her ground, and several other employees joined her flanks to escort the man outside. I’m sure behavior like this happened in the pre-pandemic days, but I don’t recall it being quite so rampant. It seems I’m not the only one for whom social graces are hovering out of arm’s reach.

My mom recently visited for two weeks. She used to live here but moved away a decade ago in order to care for my grandfather in his final days. This was her first trip up in nearly 6 years. The last time she flew up for a visit, she stayed with me and spent quite a bit of time running around, seeing all her friends, and reconnecting with old coworkers. Now, I no longer live in the same neighborhood as many of her friends. While not a prohibitive drive, traffic from my new place to her friends’ neighborhoods can mean up to a 1–2 hour commute in each direction, so she was far less social this trip. As her designated driver, I issued a heartfelt thank goodness. She stayed at a wonderful Air B&B right down the road (I don’t have a guest room, and 2 weeks is a long time for her to fold her aging six-foot body onto a 4 1/2 foot couch), and while it was wonderful to see her, even just having someone additional in my personal space for most of the day, every day, for several weeks took an emotional toll.

Toward the end of her visit, I asked her if I could take her to her Air B&B earlier than usual so I could have some downtime to myself. We’d been in the same room and mostly focused on our own respective tasks, but still, I needed solitude. She was happy I was able to communicate with her about my needs (but that didn’t prevent me from feeling guilty that I wasn't soaking up every spare moment that she was here). She made a comment that it might be her last trip, and while I sincerely hope that’s not the case, I also shudder at my abysmal hosting skills. I’ve lost the art of warmth and hospitality and making people feel welcomed into my space.

I’m sorry, Mom.

My brother had a play performance the other day so my partner and I turned it into a date night and had dinner out and went to watch and support. There were several people I knew in the lobby waiting for the theater to open up — mainly buddies of my brother, and other family friends — but I just wasn’t feeling up to making small talk. Perhaps that’s the single biggest change since the onset of the pandemic: I used to be quite adept at initiating idle chatter with anyone, and now I no longer have the energy for it. I am choosing to hide behind a mask, but this time it’s a tangible Covid-required one that covers my nose and mouth rather than a social construct that I morph myself into.

The last Thursday of my mom’s visit, my Guncles (gay uncles) came over for happy hour. They texted in the morning and asked if they could show up an hour and a half before our scheduled time so I shifted forward all my plans to accommodate them. One of them has a degenerating lung disease so I wanted this to be easy for him, especially since he was making the drive to visit my mom and me.

I carefully arranged four different kinds of cheese, three flavors of cracker, supremed orange sections, grapes, dried dragonfruit, two kinds of spiced nuts I’d made, pear jam, dark chocolate, and homemade biscotti on two small olive wood boards and set out plates and utensils. I was already feeling low energy from the preparations, and that quickly went downhill in the presence of my chatterbox Guncles. As wonderful as it was to see them, I felt like I needed a 15-hour nap afterward, and I carried an emotional hangover for three days afterward.

Despite feeling like I “just can’t people” anymore, I’m still able to communicate via text to a select few. And of course, there are a few fellow writers here (Lee Bidoski, Leonora Watkins, Rivka Wolf, among others) who are total badasses and I resonate with their essays. In a different life, I might say, “Hey. I like what you write. Let’s be friends!” But for now, it’s enough to cultivate an online mutual appreciation-ship. It's about all my currently-lackluster people skills can handle these days.

I hope that my peopling abilities return. Eventually. But for now, I’m content with the more introspective winter season of coziness, comfort, and creativity that I’ve been prioritizing.

If you need me, I will probably be here, but I probably won’t answer the door.