You know it’s been a minute since I’ve talked to strangers in person beyond the odd “Thank You” to and from folx in stores and the like. To be honest, meeting/chatting with people I don’t know well has never been a favorite activity of mine. Over time I’ve come to recognize my level of social anxiety and be fine with it. Or at least I’ve learned how to know it better and work with it. So much has to do with what I think I need to present and maintain when it comes to spending time in an unknown person’s presence. Parties are not my favorite thing by a longshot because at the end it always feels like my cheek muscles have been paralyzed in a strange up-pull. It’s not like the torture is always ongoing. Many a time, once a span has passed and I’ve found a groovy stranger-chat partner who for whatever reason I relax with, then I’m good. It’s just the initial entry into the situation that has me wishing I didn’t have to go. And as I get older, I truly cherish the people who I know intimately and am my complete self with and don’t feel the need to expand my social circle. Since leaving a job where I had to show up each day and possibly/sometimes talk to new people in meetings and what-have-you, I’ve been really happy being able to be solo and focus on that most one-on-one task of writing. Not to mention, there’s been this little pandemic situation happening, which has really eliminated socializing…well…completely.

Somehow, though, I keep stepping into things that have me interacting with people. Maybe I’m thinking I’ll get better at it. Maybe I’m willing to have the discomfort if the event is important enough. In the case of my most recent excursion out in public, it’s probably the latter reason. Which is why I’m finding myself one-day-a-week going to Arroyo Valley High School and volunteering at a county vaccination site (which I described more in detail last week). Anyhoo, so this week I was back at the desk doing data entry, staring out at the lines and the humans who were waiting for their superpower infusions and I was seated next to a person named Brandon. Another thing. I don’t mind the mask (see cheek muscles above. With a mask on, there’s no need for my lower face to do anything but rest). His vibe was quiet and I appreciated that. About an hour in, though, he asked me a random question. Maybe something along the lines of “You’re volunteering, eh?” and we started talking. The busy-ness factor of this vax site ebbs and flows, so there are pockets of time where I’m just sitting staring out into the sea of happy, tense, many-things-in-between humans. Sometimes I’m checking my phone, but mostly just sitting. Brandon was actually pretty easy to talk to. A Mormon—there are a lot of Mormons out in these here parts—he was a design student, just graduated from college who kept saying things like “our generation” while flicking his thumb back and forth between us. This made me laugh inside because maybe masks are the great disguiser of age. Sure, why not. That he thought I was also in my twenties was something he was only disabused of when one of the supervisors came over to talk about when we all graduated from high school. (She was working some sort of theory, for which I was insanely unhelpful. Because I’m old and actually had no idea what she was talking about. It had to do with rallies and chants. I don’t know…maybe that happened in my graduating class. Probably not. See: “went to alternative high school” from last week’s post.) When I said 1980 was my graduating year, I could feel wee Brandon doing math and realizing I was literally older than his parents. I smiled, under my mask. You can have so many expressions under there, it’s awesome. Happily, we continued conversing without weirdness and he stopped thinking I was part of his generation. I also found I was really curious about his missionary years (the thing Mormon’s do mostly when they’re young. And mostly guys, certainly a reflection on the patriarchal take of that dogma). And as I was asking him all sorts of questions, I remembered I’m a journalist. And I chose that career. Wonder why?

Certainly wanting to be around musicians and music had something to do with it, but also when I thought about it, there were always boundaries around the time I would interview people. There was a start and an end. That made me happy. I could gird myself for the event, then, even if something ran long, I knew at some point I could step away because those were the rules. When it was someone I was enjoying—a musician who turned out to be filled with ideas and made normal eye contact—that was great. When the person was a tool—a musician or adjacent sort who was way off on their own ego island and could not even figure out how to use their eyes to focus—then I could count down the minutes. But in this case, volunteering, sitting next to Brandon, I thought, wow, I’ve got another five hours in this chair, what if the conversation just gets ponderous. Then I remembered I could just stop talking. Weird to remember I actually have some self-control. So then I relaxed. The conversation clipped along just fine, until one of the supervisors came up and told me I’d made a mistake that had thrown off the whole facility’s dose count and it had taken some effort to figure out what I’d done, but they’d fixed it, and please be careful and don’t do it again. I briefly thought I might get fired and wondered how my ego would respond to being let go from a position I hadn’t actually been hired for. Still mortifying, I think. I didn’t get fired. But I did realize I needed to concentrate and stop talking. Like being in school. So I turned my attention fully to my work. And when there was downtime, we chatted a bit more. Very natural. I know it may sound strange to be surprised by this, but two things were going on. One: It occurred to me that it’s been over a year since I’ve had any reason or opportunity to even flex this meet-a-stranger muscle. I’ve called people I don’t know on the phone for the vaccine hunting, but that’s never more than to get information (except for the one guy who really didn’t want a shot, but just wanted someone to talk/complain to. Easy enough to move on from that. Said bye. Hung up.). It’s weird to realize you haven’t done something you haven’t really missed. Two: It’s not that bad, but also not a thing I feel the need to do on the regular. I’m not gonna lie to you, I had a little panic as we said goodbye yesterday about what if I get sat by him again next week? We DEFINITELY do not have anything else to talk about for another seven hours. I don’t think that we do, anyway. But why am I worrying about this now? Why has my meditation done nothing for the live-in-the-moment attitude I keep trying to achieve?

Last week we got our second dose of the Covid-shield, so we’re a week and change away from full antibody protection. With that shot came relief along with a bone-tired very long nap immediately following, but also a realization that some of us will be pushing our snouts out the front door like hibernating moles waking up post-terror to test the waters and see what and who we feel like doing and seeing. This NYT article makes some very good points about naming the feeling many may be experiencing. One little-bitty step at a time.

In the meantime, because we are not well or safe unless the rest of the world is too, the stories from India are horrific and a word much more heavy than heartbreaking. Here is a link if you’re curious about how to help. And lastly, if you know someone who hasn’t been vaccinated and needs help, whether in the appointment- making or in the supporting-them-to-just-do-it areas, sending lots of good vibes your way to help them see why it’s important, because it seems we’re now shifting into the vaccination period in the US where those who were always going to and had access have gotten their vaccinations. Now it’s time for the nitty-gritty bits to happen. I’m up for it and if you hit a wall, let me know, I’d be happy to walk the walk with you to help someone roll up their sleeve and enact whatever body language they do when a needle goes into their arm.