‘Hugging allowed from Monday’, but do I actually want one?

Boris Johnson’s recent announcement that hugging is now back in the realms of acceptable behaviour, has brought on a period of reflection for me, with a special focus on human interaction. I never really considered how much physical contact actually mattered to me until I couldn’t get any for 2 months straight, nor had I considered what a source of anxiety it was to me until it was gone.  

While my social interactions have been considerably less varied and fulfilling because of the limitations imposed by the pandemic, they have also been more concentrated. The pandemic made it acceptable to not talk to certain people and slowly phase out those acquaintances you’re not particularly interested in, of which you would be forced to enjoy in a pre-pandemic world. This means that a lot of that social energy could now be reserved for people you actually care for. With this energy shift, I found my social circle shrinking but also deepening, and that’s absolutely okay. Another benefit of this absurd new life is the beauty of reconnection, in that I’ve been able to keep up with friends across the world, which was difficult pre-covid. The absence of physical presence has made it easier to enjoy myself; there is less pressure on appearance, about not having the right thing to say, or leaving that text on read for a few days, because…pandemic. The ever-present anxiety that I felt about boring people with my presence is suddenly gone – I know that they can say that they’re busy and walk away from a call they don’t care to be in anymore, much like I have done multiple times. The new forms of communication we have established have made it easier to be comfortable and safe in one’s communication, without all of the trappings and pressures that would be present in such a dense environment this time 2 years ago.

However… we are all human, I’ve had days when I would have paid anything just to hang out with someone different, even if they are a bore to the core. The few new friendships I’ve managed to make during the pandemic have all been exhilarating interactions, even if we don’t get on swimmingly, I think that’s because they are a different face. But there are only so many times you can have unique conversations, feel unique things together and in general surprise each other. All of the familial pleasures at home easily slipped into boredom and annoyance. Which is a terrifying thought, as no-one wishes to be bored of their loved ones. There is also something to be said about the inability to convey emotion in words. What hurts me about the lack of physical presence is that of the lack of physical empathy, for the friends who are hurting, friends who have lost loved ones and friends who are struggling more than me. How do we respond to the tears of those we love in a normal year? We hold them, we whisper reassurances, we do anything we can to help. But how can you do that over a call? How can you cry to someone a million miles away and not feel infinitely lonely as they fail to embrace you? And how can you not feel a deep emptiness as you hear a loved one break down on the other end of the line and all you are able to offer them are paper-thin words? The pandemic has made it harder for me to work through my own pains and help others do the same, because trying to do so now might just hurt more than holding it in until we are back in the same room. Intensity is strongly influenced by the physical ability to interact with another person, certainly for me, and I can’t help but wonder about how we’ll be able to handle the switch-up from zoom rooms to seminar rooms, and the overwhelming intensity that comes with it. 

So where does that leave me? On the one hand, afraid to return to how things were before, to allow those old anxieties about not being good enough, fun enough, or witty enough back into my mind and the dreaded over-rehearsed small talk creeping ever closer. On the other, desperately longing for a hug, for a touch, just to be in the same physical room as someone I care for, the brightness and intensity compared to online calls, for me, is comparable to the difference between a black and white film and full colour. The pandemic has left me, like many others, in a strange space. I’ve managed to work through some of my discomfort with human interaction at the price of diluting that interaction, and I am worried about what effect returning to the full intensity version will bring. Will I flounder and fall beneath it due to a lack of practice or finally appreciate my interactions with others for the treasures they are? It’s hard to tell as of yet, but I think that it’s a risk I cannot wait to take by giving someone I love a hug.