5 minute read
Friendship, Interrupted
Friendship, Interrupted
What the Pandemic Did (and Didn’t Do) to Our Relationships
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By Katha von Dessien
Friend (noun): A person who you know well and who you like a lot, but who is usually not a member of your family. (Cambridge Dictionary)
In February 2020, I booked a four-week trip to the US for the summer to visit some friends I hadn’t seen in years. I am a high school teacher and knew that the months until summer would be filled with a lot of work and stress, so knowing I’d get on a plane right after school ended sounded really good. I was looking forward to being with people so dear to me and recharging my batteries. COVID-19 began to creep onto the front pages of the newspapers, but I thought it would be under control by the time I left.
We all know where this story is going…. Instead of flying around the globe to visit my past homes and beloved friends, I stayed put in my apartment, daily routines, and relationships. For months I have lived in isolation, and this has taught me quite a bit about the people in my life and how I relate to them.
There were days, maybe even entire weeks, when I didn’t see another person in real life. Every day I woke up, walked over to the kitchen, and got a cup of coffee before I made my way to my desk and started working. I taught students in front of a black screen and communication was limited to emails and instant messages. When the last lesson was over, I forced myself to go on a walk by myself even though I couldn’t stand touring the same route over and over again. At night I wanted to talk to friends so badly—and yet, I couldn’t. During the day it seemed that I talked more than usual to compensate for the lack of personal or visual interaction, so by the end of the day my throat was sore, and my brain was tired. I had spent all my energy on talking about mundane things and there was simply none left to elaborate on what was really going on with me.
I have lived in this city for five years and I have met many new people. Colleagues, neighbors, people at my faith community…. But who are they to me? When the world shut down and everyone retreated within their own four walls, I wondered who I’d call and ask for help when my happy mask slowly wore off. I was a bit surprised when I realized how little I knew the people in my daily life and how uncomfortable I felt burdening them with myself. I deeply longed for my friends in other countries, but I didn’t want to jump on yet another Zoom meeting just to see their faces. Flights became a bureaucratic nightmare or impossible altogether. The world closed down and no one knows when it will open up again.
The pandemic made me reflect on the kinds of relationships in my life. I realized that in the midst of uncertainty and spiritual weariness there are people I have and people I need. It seems as if the relationships I’m in are put to the test in order to examine what they’re really made of. The conclusion I have reached is this: We don’t need more acquaintances in our lives; we need old souls. People we can call friends. People who know us well and allow us to be ourselves.
With them we don’t have to hide parts of our story or explain the complications of growing up in so many different places. They don’t expect us to say much when we have talked all day, but let us lie on their couch instead. They invite us over for dinner because they know what loneliness and isolation can feel like. They give us a hug when we long for human touch. They think out loud and trust us with their own insecurities because they know they will be safe with us.
So how do we find these old souls?
The pandemic has thrown so many of us into collective grief. Well, that’s something TCKs can relate to. From too many goodbyes, we have learned that grieving is an essential part on the journey to adjustment and wellbeing. I wonder if the constant moving, losing, and rebuilding of our lives have prepared TCKs for times like these. Maybe some of the rituals we developed throughout the years can be applicable now as we say goodbye to booked visits to former homes, interrupted plans, or relationships that didn’t survive the very rocky last two years.
We acknowledge our hopes and the disappointment that comes with giving them up. We say goodbye to plans that didn’t work out, weddings that had to be postponed, people who never call back. We admit that missing our friends really hurts. We lean into the grief and allow ourselves to feel it all because anger and sadness are part of the process.
We discover the key people in our lives and rejoice in the fact that there are some old souls after all. We draw from the strength of our long-distance relationships developed through many years of separation. We know it is possible to build connection via the screen and faithful communication. We have survived Ebola epidemics, a terribly slow mail service, and different time zones—we can do hard things. We become more resilient and learn to value both the past and the present. We remain grateful for the friends we do have in other countries and yet challenge ourselves to invest in whoever is right in front of us. We get to know the people in our neighborhoods and allow ourselves to be known by them. We invite them over for dinner or give them a hug when they might need it the most. We think out loud and learn to trust each other with our insecurities because we know we’ll be safe.
And one day, when we get on that plane to visit our other homes, we know we can always return, because we have made new friends here. We have found new old souls, because we have become old souls ourselves.
Katha von Dessien has lived in Uganda, South Africa, and the US. Now she’s based in Southern Germany where she works as a teacher, podcaster, and author. Blog: https://thisiskatha.com; Instagram: @mundane.narratives
