Initially, I thought this would be a casual, once in a while thing. You know, a novelty, something different occasionally. Even when we started spending more time together in March, I thought it would be temporary. Certainly, I never pictured a Zoom icon on my desktop.
But here we are, 5 months later, and we’re spending a lot of time together. From what I can tell, Zoom seems pretty happy with the arrangement. They (Zoom’s preferred pronoun) occasionally have their moments as we all do, and I’m subjected to a silent treatment or a complete disconnect. But I can weather these occasional lapses.
The truth is, that with this pandemic, we’re together ALL THE TIME and frankly, it’s exhausting. While they were okay in small doses, the effect of seeing small faces in small boxes and hearing voices only filtered through the internet has ceased to be amusing. They’re with me at work, when I’m with family, friends, and have completely commandeered the interactions with my creative communities.
It’s Complicated…
I have started re-evaluating my relationship with Zoom. It isn’t Zoom’s fault. Zoom had been loyal and reliable. I didn’t want to leave Zoom for another platform, just another medium, like, maybe a book.
As I was about to give Zoom with the, “It’s not you, it’s me” talk, I had a realization: Zoom is the only thing that gives me a connection, however tenuous, to other people. And even though I only see a part of them and hear a facsimile of their voice, it’s something. It’s something that reminds me there are still people out there who want to engage and keep connected to me and other humans.
I don’t know what the future holds for our relationship (we’ve tacitly agreed not to discuss it), but I’ve resolved to practice some self-care, including some alone time.
