What I Miss During Covid

Summary

The author reflects on the loss of spontaneous human interactions during the Covid pandemic, yearning for the simple, everyday social exchanges that previously enriched their life.

Abstract

The article titled "What I Miss During Covid" delves into the author's longing for the casual human encounters that have been curtailed by the pandemic. Despite being a person who enjoys solitude, the author acknowledges the significance of random social interactions, such as bumping into acquaintances or performing small acts of kindness, in affirming their sense of community and self-worth. The piece captures the author's struggle with the new reality of social distancing, where every passerby is a potential health threat, and the once-natural act of engaging in conversation is now fraught with caution and restraint. The author expresses a deep sense of loss over these interactions, which they liken to breathing, and highlights the importance of these connections in maintaining a sense of belonging and human connection.

Opinions

The author values the importance of human interaction, even though they are not inherently social.
Simple acts of kindness, like holding the door or chatting with neighbors, are deeply missed and are seen as essential to the author's sense of community.
The pandemic has made the author more aware

What I Miss During Covid

Remember when you used to run into people on the street?

Photo from Pixabay.

Of all the things we used to do before the Covid pandemic, I miss coming into random contact with other humans the most. I have never been a wildly social person. I am content to spend hours — days even — by myself. When my children were in full bloom at home, I used to crave the chance to spend time alone.

But as the days have turned into weeks and weeks into months of isolation, I have found that what I am missing are the simple human interactions that I used to breathe like the air. Other people, I have discovered now that I am without them, provide an opportunity to realize my own humanness.

I miss the chance to show a little compassion: to open a door for another person or allow them to get in front of me in line. If I wasn’t in isolation, I could volunteer at the food bank, but for two months I have stayed home. Living with my husband, my 102-year-old mother and her aide, I am luckier than some who have no one to interact with, but still I lament the loss of the little interactions I once had.

At the neighborhood store I always used to run into people I knew from years of school plays, baseball games, and other community activities.

I miss their common greeting: “Hey, good to see you. How’s the family?”

Now that those interactions have stopped, I realize how their recognition boosted my sense of belonging to the community and validated my sense of worth.

When I am on my daily walk now I tense up when another person appears in my trajectory and I quickly make steps to keep my distance from this person who, like all others, is a potential vector. As much as I want to get closer, say hello and maybe even chat, my rational mind tells me I must stay away.

Sometimes, most times, as the approaching walker passes, I make a point of speaking, a decibel too loudly, to say hello, to engage. The exchange feels forced, exaggerated, but I savor it nonetheless, fantasizing for a fleeting second that the person who could one day become a friend, or at least an acquaintance, when life loses these unnatural restraints.