NOTE: this post is directly pulled from my 6/10/21 and 6/16/21 email newsletters with light edits. if you would like to receive my weekly note in your inbox along with additional sections and features not included here, you can join my email community.
re-emergence anxiety, part one.
we are on the cusp of a great post-vax re-emergence. and there are thoughts. many, many thoughts.
in a recent instagram survey i held, 74% of people reported initially feeling relief (vs. panic) when forced to slow down because of the pandemic. i think: we’ve been waiting to catch up to ourselves. and i believe this marks one reason why re-emergence feels so scary: we don’t want to give up our relative peace. and oh, how i relate.
i find myself experiencing two kinds of re-emergence right now— getting back on social media after experiencing the majority of this last post-pandemic year off it, and for the first time in a long time, considering some sort of existence that includes in person hangs and life (once i finish my vaccinations). to note, i’ve been extra strict about quarantining so i haven’t hung out with any friends. at all. aside from a few brief occasions where a friend came to literally *just* pick up or drop off something at my house, i haven’t even laid eyes on a friend in the flesh. what a world.
add to that that i’ve been unusually quiet and inward for most of the last year— on and offline.
for one, i haven’t really been working, which meant even less people and “regular life” exposure. many of you may not know this, but until pandemic, my main gig for ten years was as a photographer. the pandemic effectively laid me off from that work. and i got the message: to dive deeper into other work i’d been wanting to explore more for some years now.
and with that transition came the invitation for some deep healing and big life changes. to move forward healthfully and with integrity, i knew i would require lots of quiet and lots of space. i had to turn off the barrage of inputs and pause my reflexive habituations. and frankly, i’d been meaning to take a break from my often toxic and addictive relationship with social media for a minute. this whole multifaceted life overhaul? i am still very, very much in it. yep, even a year later. no overnight success stories over here.
so i went silent. even though i knew the implications that being MIA online could have on my social health and thus my mental health to a degree— especially during a pandemic. but the mental health impacts of staying on social were wearing on me more. above all, spaciousness and silence were what i needed most.
as expected, without the convenient reminders that i existed, people generally stopped checking for me— clients, acquaintances, friends. it was a weird and sometimes shitty feeling to feel absolutely irrelevant and near forgotten; did i matter if i wasn’t producing, wasn’t visible? it’s almost as if my existence itself had fallen victim to “pics or didn’t happen.”
in a way, i felt like because i stopped “happening” for the world and my community, i’d stopped existing for them. my sense of social invisibility seemed exacerbated tenfold by the fact that i chose to be offline during a time of physical isolation. and the isolation really, really got to me at times— especially in a world where our only connection had become the internet.
i know my decision would be unbearable for many to go through with. it sounds almost unfathomable to self-select becoming so isolated during the pandemic. but having overdone it with the “lone wolf” isolationist identity over the years, aloneness is not necessarily new for me. and yet still, that doesn’t mean i didn’t experience crippling loneliness at times. the kind that put me into some of my darkest periods. the kind where i marvel that i made it out.
even so, this aloneness was different than that which i’ve previously self-imposed due to mental health, friendship traumas, insecurities, dark nights of the soul, and social anxieties.
this was aloneness with true quiet. aloneness without mundane-yet-soul-crushing internet noise and largely junk food social media “connection.” an aloneness centered on and enriched by intentionality, carefully curated inner and outer space, mindful awareness, and fluid pace. in many ways, i didn’t want to let this ecosystem i’d created for myself go.
but then, you know: work. money. and the pockets of beautiful connection you do sometimes find on the internet.
i knew i was eventually going to come back. generally because i knew that social was the primary way most folks besides my closest friends were going to remember i existed. so while part of me enjoyed the simplicity of an anonymous life, another part of me wanted to be remembered. and though the idea of emerging from my cocoon overwhelmed me considerably, i wanted to be in mutual exchange. also, kind of depressingly, i recognized that by not keeping up with my closer friends on social, i was missing out on certain parts of their lives.
although a part of me wanted to take my perceived forgottenness personally, i recognize that in the age of the internet, we all “know” far too many people on and offline— more than our brains can actually hold; it’s unrealistic to keep track of everyone.
truth be told, for years i’ve made lists of my real-life friends and acquaintances to help me remember who i want to stay connected with most. and so when i inevitably got caught up in whatever flurry of life i’d created for myself, i don’t absentmindedly forget who matters to me (also because my memory seriously challenges me sometimes). i realize i’m extra, though, and that people are not out here making lists so they can remember me. i also understand that scientifically, people can hold only so many social contacts in their brains at a time. so, unfortunately, becoming some version of forgotten is a byproduct of the passively hyper-connected world we live in.
despite knowing this, the perceived erasure of my existence and relevance was still a bizarre phenomenon, and really made me think about the commodification of our humanity via the capitalistic constructs we are basically forced to exist in. i found myself often revisiting existential questions like these and these, with no real answers. i also thought a lot about the beauty of quietude, slowness, true presence— and how much we’ve become disconnected from these values as a culture.
so the question begs itself: what is balance inside of the technological environments (read: cages) we inhabit? does it even exist?
in certain ways, choice feels starker— with more perceived trade-offs and a greater sense of impossibility and powerlessness; to do any one thing might mean certain significant losses in other areas:
to be on social and be addicted or to not be on social, feel more peace, and be forgotten?
to produce regular content and feel like you’re on a hamster wheel or to only follow you’re purest, often infrequent, creative impulses and be deemed irrelevant?
to be boundaryless, so not to lose out on available connection or to create tech boundaries only to be excluded, judged, and/or dismissed?
on a level, our desire for true connection is held captive by our own tech-degraded connection habits— mine, yours, theirs; it’s a vicious cycle that keeps most of us miserable to some degree. thankfully, our complicity also means that we have space to exercise some agency.
i think a big question for this time is: how do we recognize tech for the amazing tool it is while also taking an unflinching look at the ways it is essentially devolving and dehumanizing us?
from these acknowledgments, i believe, must arise a way and will to collectively commit to more intentional connection and gathering— 1:1, in small groups, in larger groups— on and offline.
even if we move inch by inch, small friend pod by small friend pod, community by community— we must radically commit to changing the collective agreements we’ve made in order to overcome the overwhelming sense of isolation and loneliness we feel; we must invest in connection, in community, in exchange, in time, in energy, in intentionality. we must prioritize this and put in the work. lest we become forever beholden to the puppeteering of an increasingly sophisticated and rapturous autopilot system bolstered by our technological proclivities that are sure to strip us bare until we’ve become completely undone.
a mouthful. but for real.
also: now might be a good time to remind you to take what resonates and leave the rest. i haz strong tech feelings. in the words of the great monica: don’t take it personal. baby-baby-baby-baby-baby, don’t take it personal.
anyhoo. such inquiry feels particularly salient as we land upon this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to rediscover connection and redefine what it means to be in relationship, in community, and in society;
might we be able to build something new for and with each other as we re-emerge? might we resolve to hold onto the slowness, intentionality, and mindfulness we may have deepened during this time? bring it into this new world as an offering, a gift, a portal? might we resist the urge to get swept back up? i very much hope so.
reflections like those from my friend allison give me faith that there are others out there who really hope so, too. i imagine many of you are those people.
but how will we do this when the typical breakneck speed of life will ruthlessly try to pull us right back into the dizzying fold that we know so well? again, we try. we really, really try. for those of us who want a different way, we will create it with unwavering focus and commitment to meaningful space and connection, loving mirroring in our relationships, and community accountability.
you down?
re-emergence anxiety, part two.
despite the challenges being offline posed for me, i am still so glad i did it. really, a good part of me wishes i could just stay offline. i gained so much in this time: way less time with my phone, less worrying about what other people were doing or thinking, less stressing about who i needed to be, less rushing, more finding my own peace and center, more walks, more meditation, more presence, more ease, more simple joys, and way more cultivation of self-compassion. in many ways, my time away was exhilarating and freeing— it gave me beautiful, brilliant S P A C E. it gave me back intentional choice.
a couple weeks into me being back on social, i suddenly began receiving work inquires, a few more texts than usual, and requests to catch up. but the way my pandemic walden period has fucked up my ability to keep up with communications?! yeah. i have never been shittier with email and text and calls and catching up with people in my life.
while i am so grateful for the increased connection and opportunities, personally and professionally, i also became overwhelmed as fuck. how to reintegrate myriad functions and connections and tasks back into my life? how to manage all my “stuff” that came back up from being out in the (online) world again? i got so overwhelmed, so anxious, that my eye started twitching, my heart would race at times, and at one point i felt so much nervous/anxious tension that my body was on the verge of physically shaking. i could feel the shaking inside my body. it’s like i was about to erupt.
i’ve since calmed down notably-ish but still have my work cut out for me. the question for me now has become one of integration: what are the ways i can bridge my quiet world with my connected world? in a way that is uncompromising of my peace?
so, together with last week’s note, that’s the social media part. one part. one not-so-small part of this whole question on what it means for me— and for us— to re-emerge. then there’s the whole in person thing. that. how do we do that?
didn’t you know i was already socially awkward *before* the pandemic?
like, i might not know how to >>>talk<<< when i see you.
i might laugh at the wrong things.
i might start crying.
i might just stare for a really, really long time.
i might be even more intense and weird than i already was.
i might change what i want in the next five minutes. actually, right now. i've changed my mind right now.
i might just turn my ass around and go right back home.
but also, maybe: can i just hug you for an hour?
add to awkwardness that for many of us, our run-of-the-mill social fears and anxieties are on twelve:
fear of getting hurt again
fear of rejection
fear of being judged
fear of vulnerability
fear of getting it wrong
fear of being unworthy
fear of being uninteresting
fear of not truly being seen
fear of abandonment
fear of not being held as you are
fear of codependency
fear of betrayal
fear of being misunderstood
fear of discomfort
fear of unpredictability and lack of control
fear of things not working out or falling apart
fear of not having the space and boundaries you’ll need
fear of not knowing how and where you fit in anymore
it. is. a lot. but we are not alone. i’ll have you know that this list was effectively written by a few dozen actual humans— shout out to my instagram community! so if you feel any of that? they feel you, too. and so do i. being in this re-emergence together— honestly, meaningfully— that is also connectedness.
further respite: the way the pandemic has invited the queering of spaces— making them more fluid, intersectional, and blurred. think of restaurants spilling out into the streets, facetiming in your pajamas with new friends and coworkers alike (deemed “inappropriate intimacy” before), and more upfront candor on dating apps becoming normalized; we are mashing shit up, breaking norms, fucking up taboos. queered space allows us a novel freedom to explore more courageous intimacy and relational creativity. it will probably give us more space to be awkward and human, too.
another silver lining of this time comes in the form of increased perspective and gratitude for everything we took for granted before; we now get to bring that presence to all we’ve realized we appreciate and who we’ve realized we appreciate; turns out acquaintances, bodega guys, coworkers, and passing strangers mean more to us than we thought.
greater presence to the gift of simply being alive and the beauty of the mundane is pretty sweet, too; when other people or i myself felt unavailable, i tried better to immerse myself in the aliveness that surrounds me and emanates from within me at all times; i brushed through the low hanging leaves on trees and made friends with them. i laughed at baby lizards. marveled at the faint aromas of flowers in the evening.
i already mentioned not seeing any friends. but i didn’t tell you that aside from my neighborhood walks, i also hadn’t been going out at all. so a few months ago when i had to go to the apple store to get my computer repaired, i decided to bask in more mundanity: to walk around the outdoor shopping area and get a coffee. i swear to you everything was basically in technicolor and like mary poppins. i was so glad to see life, to see people, to talk to someone, to have a treat outside of my house. i was floating.
came back home elated and ready to take on the world. because of the genius bar and some cold brew. y’all. some version of this joy can be life most days— when we are present and in gratitude. that’s what i’m trying to do, where i’m trying to be.
and that loneliness we’ve been feeling? it’s actually nothing new. we’ve just been feeling it worse and have had the time to pay attention. loneliness is a pre-covid epidemic (read: public health concern). and it has become an issue so great, that out of all health topics one could choose to write about, united states surgeon general dr. vivek murthy has dedicated an entire book to loneliness and the significance of meaningful social connection. for those unfamiliar or curious for more, i’ve included a podcast episode with dr. murthy in the “on my radar” section below. definitely a top recommendation of the week.
so the other week, i was like: “blergh, disconnection.” and out of frustration with our past and present social norms, took to instagram to ask folks how they felt about connection. turned out 81% of people who reported wanting more connection in their lives also felt afraid or anxious about connecting.
in another very professional survey i did, 66% of respondents said they felt freaked out about re-acclimatizing to some sort of “regular-ish” life in a post-vax world, while the remainder reported feeling excited. more than half of these same folks felt some mix of freaked out and excited. sounds about right. we want connection, we like connection, and at the same time: many of us have lots of feelings about connection.
my initial survey led me to begin fast-tracking a long held plan of mine to create community conversation experiences, evolving on models i’ve created and facilitated in the past. when i posed the idea on instagram, lots of folks expressed interest— and many of you are here in this newsletter community! in case you missed it last week: the sessions will launch in july and i will keep you posted about them in this space. for now, here’s a flashback to a bit more background on my inspiration behind the conversations.
an important thing i’ve learned is that loneliness does not stem from a lack in amount of connection but rather from a lack in meaningful connection; even if someone experiences lots of connection, loneliness persists if the connection doesn’t match the type and depth of connection they deep down desire. this kind of loneliness can be just as devastating as any other.
this is why learning to be in intentional relationship and community with one another, and learning to untether from our devices, will be crucial as we practice reconnection. as british journalist johann hari powerfully posits: ‘the opposite of addiction is connection.’ this includes our tech addictions. johann’s podcast conversation with tristan harris (of social dilemma fame) on this topic was incredibly illuminating and shone a guiding light for me. a highly suggested listen (further topical highlights of this talk under the “on my radar” section below).
as we explore what this time away from the familiar world has meant for us and will mean for us, priya parker recently offered some valuable contemplations on intentional connection and gathering on prentis hemphill’s podcast. on re-entry she shared, “doing this well means taking time to process, to make meaning, to mark, and then to choose the ways we want to enter and choose the ways we want to leave.”
my deep hope, i’ll say it again: that we’ll use our re-entry to build on what we’ve learned about our values during this time. that we’ll prioritize exploring more meaningful connection, more often. and that we will exist simultaneously more spaciously and more fully than before. when the opportunity arises, i hope you’ll join me— and each other.
in the meantime and always: may you be guided by the wisdom of your own pace.