Life Is More Than A Virtual Meander

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I’ve seen people lately.

A variety of them — family, writers, coaches. I’ve seen more folks than these, but these people I saw in person, in the flesh.

Anymore, that’s not an assumed thing. Long ago, this was the only option. We didn’t have as many sophisticated inventions as we do now. We had mail and each other’s presence. We had the telegraph and the landline. Then we could watch folks on the TV which took time away from looking at the people in the room, but we were still in the same room. Then the world blew up in such technological wonder that now being face-to-face with each other without some kind of screen nearby is an event, a special moment.

I’ll start with the writers

Weeks ago, I drove to a writer’s retreat to meet folks I’d known only from a weekly Zoom meeting. It was a celebration of sorts — of a richer version of their faces, hands, shoulders, and voices. You could see the lean of the body when one would listen, or an arching of the eyebrows when asking to understand.

And so many beautiful faces. One was as lively as the sun can shine. Her eyes were crinkly, her smile huge and amused, her seriousness evident in the forehead. Another was a rock of composure, a listener. He took things in. His impartial eyes incentivized a higher quality to what you shared — someone was truly listening, so this was a chance to truly imagine. There was a studious woman who bent and focused. There was a free-form fellow whose eyes and shrug were consistently amenable.

While I’d known these folks from their individual square on Zoom, none of them came through with such color. Zoom was like reading their story. In-person was like what Dorothy experienced during her first moments in Oz.

Then there was Bingo Night

My youngest sister was having a fundraiser, so we all piled in to support it. The scene was loud, with laughter ricocheting off the walls of a high school cafeteria. But still, I could glean so much by just being next to someone versus, say, on the phone. The phone gives you the bones — the structure — to understand concepts. Being in person is like walking into someone’s home and experiencing the vibe of living in that space.

My older sister wore a funny hat that she made for a hat contest that night. A live stream of her wouldn’t show you the amused twinkle in her eye, or the tenuous posture from carrying such an outspread sculpture on her head. And you wouldn’t have adored the moment as much.

My sister-in-law, in her presentation so refined, sat a few seats over where I caught glimpses of her desperate wish to win at Bingo. Her earnestness came through in her wide-eyed back-and-forth between her cards and the number caller. She teetered on the edge of her seat. She only ever got “so close.”

We each played one of our own cards for her, which amped the collective hilarity— a group effort to win one little Bingo game. All the squeals, crescendoed cries of disappointment, and high-voltage faces — it was a singular synchronization of people next to each other.

And there was dinner with the coaches

I’ve been coach-mentoring high school students along with a group of other coaches. We all meet on Zoom before each session, visit for a bit, then go into breakout rooms with our students. The other evening a small group of us got together to meet in person for the first time. It was a botanical garden of people.

Somehow being a few feet away from the rhythm of these bodies turned our previous virtual plastic-flower selves into living blossoms.

One woman wore sparkly necklaces and a dazzling smile. I could have seen this on Zoom, but what was only accessible in person was her mischievously nuanced face when describing with impeccable timing what it was like to permit her sixty-something self to finally pierce her ears. I laughed until I cried. On Zoom this would have been a funny story. In person, it was Broadway.

Another woman was the occasional dogsitter for the tiny dog of the house in which we gathered. This little guy loved the woman beyond compare. He hyper-wiggled in her embrace because he couldn’t tame his ecstasy over her presence. All she could do was giggle and weather the face licks. It made her face a living fairytale about love. I appreciated her more in that one minute than from all the virtual meetings combined.

Having access to each other over long distances is invaluable. It’d be hard to quantify that.

Yet, these things fail to give us one thing— the real deal. I’ve found lately, after our Covid quarantine, that I see how different you are when I’m right near you, exposed to your actual sound waves, watching your body movements, and syncing my brain waves with yours.

It’s hard to describe — I just tried — but the experience is real and I leave with a humanness sitting quietly inside me that wasn’t there before, and that isn’t there after I shut down Zoom or walk away from someone whose head was inside their phone. Or my head in mine.

If we trade one for the other, it’d be a regrettable loss. Life could be so much more than that.

Hope you're well, friends. :-)