Chatting away over a coffee to an old school friend of mine earlier this week on FaceTime made me feel a hell of a lot better. Firstly, it was great to make a date for a catch up – like the old days before lockdown when simple pleasures like going out for a coffee with someone, or just sitting in a friend’s kitchen over a cuppa were taken for granted. The second was seeing her beaming face on my screen after a few abortive attempts which we blamed on connectivity - but was probably down to the combined uselessness of our menopausal minds pressing the wrong buttons. Thirdly, we just talked and shared our experiences of the banal, the mundane, the normal stuff: the frustrations of cleaning bathrooms after teenagers, of cheeky children, the thankless task of washing. And it wasn’t until I came off and was taking the dog out for her walk, that I realised how much of what I have been feeling over the last few months has been really down to missing my mates.
You can’t beat a good friendship. The general chitchat that means nothing to anyone else – the mutual musings about children, partners, dogs. Pants and periods. Boobs and bums. The freedom to natter away but also observing the unsaid rule of what is said over coffee, stays over coffee. Belly laughs as embarrassing situations are recounted, tears as we share sad news or harmless gossip that you know will go no further. A good friend who doesn’t judge, who listens to you as you listen to them, is like reciprocal therapy. You can’t beat it and you can’t underestimate the importance of it.
I work from my home office and have done for many years - so the only people I see on a regular basis are my husband and sons. They are out all day and when they do all trail back in from their school and work; they disappear up to their collective rooms or throw themselves in front of the telly before dinner in a desperate attempt to unwind of an evening, before hopping onto the conveyor belt of drudge the next day. I know and understand this, so over time have come to accept that they need their down time to counteract their busy days out of the house, and long ago stopped wagging my tail at the front door like a desperate needy dog waiting to be entertained as they walked in.
My solution, which worked fine until the pesky lockdown intervened; was to build in a few coffee dates, lunches or the odd evening out with friends into my working week – just enough so I felt I was still part of the human race and I would then skip back to my desk feeling rebooted and would often produce better quality work as a result. And this is what I miss. I find now that one day just falls into the next, and instead of focussing tasks and completing a deadline before rewarding myself with an hour off to grab a cuppa with a friend; the gaping void of time offers nothing but procrastination and dawdling, and I think I actually produce less without a time frame to work within.
Chatting over a screen is better than nothing. Zoom, FaceTime, Skype or Teams all have their place. We are lucky that we live in an age we can communicate like this and it works to an extent – it is better than nothing but works only marginally better than picking up the telephone and making a call. Perhaps for business these methods work better, although there is still something surreal about people in little boxes dotted around your screen, some frozen, some muted, some who you know are still in their PJs waist down.
And I know from friends who work for larger companies and have been working from home for near enough 9 months now, what is really missing from these virtual work encounters, is the natural chit-chat before and after meetings and the unofficial boardroom banter where you can gauge so much subconscious information from a handshake, a subtle look or a tone of voice. All the things we took for granted – the annoying train delays, the buzz of crammed platforms and bus stops, the exchange of pleasantries over desks with colleagues and the wave goodnight to those at the front reception; have been replaced with little humans shoved into boxes to float on our laptops. Better than nothing – but not as good as the real thing.
My FaceTime coffee this week with my friend was the tonic I needed, but I just wanted to reach into the screen and give her a big hug. The reality is friends can’t float on our laptops. It doesn’t work very well. We have tried our best with online meet ups with people over the various restrictions, and have had a lovely couple of Saturday evenings with friends who can’t be with us in person, but can sit in my laptop on our dining room table virtually enjoying a shared bottle of red. You get used to only seeing part of their heads when we all try to vie for each other’s attention. I have zoomed a couple of girlfriends but find we talk over each other and get confused at who should be talking when the little box goes green. I have been on WhatsApp video calls to find the screen freezes and I am left with an image of a friend frozen mid-sentence, open mouthed, eyes closed, the voice robotic.
Absent friends. I miss the real deal. I miss the squishy hugs, warm cheek kisses, the smell of perfume and the freshly washed hair. I miss the comfort of an arm on my shoulder and a squeeze of a hand. I miss the closeness of a whisper, the sound of giggles, and the contagious effect of physical laughter. I miss the smell of supper being cooked in other people’s kitchens, the real time sounds of glasses clinking and just the murmur of a group of people making conversation. I miss my mates.
Lockdown rules currently allow meeting just one person at a time outside and I have certainly taken advantage of this, but not everyone lives that near to me, or is that willing to traipse around in the rain. And although I have caught up with a few friends like this recently, walking around a park or a field 2 metres apart, shivering in our bobble hats trying to capture the precious moments of friendship - for a tactile old soul who craves contact - it isn’t the same.
And don’t get me started on giving my mum and dad a squeeze. That’s a whole different agony.
© The Real Tilly Fairfax
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