Here’s a pretty obvious statement: going through quarantine by myself for three months hasn’t been easy. When you don’t see anyone you know for close to ninety days, the very concept of solitude begins to take on the form of isolation. If you’ve ever stepped into one of the old confinement cells at Alcatraz, it’s a bit like that - everything’s penned in and claustrophobic, but at least you get to leave the lights on.
Imagine an extended period of never seeing any other human being - stranger or friend. Things get a little too real, to borrow the phrase. Video chat technology has gotten incredible, but I haven’t seen one of your actual faces in a long time. It turns out that seeing the twisting lines of someone’s face is one of the core biological necessities developed by our species in its hunt for evolution. Being able to process the topography of the human face is critical to our perception of reality. Yet, in the age of coronavirus video calls, everyone’s face is flat. Eyes are flat, too, but not just because of the screen; our inner teenagers are keeping us from engaging in genuine back-and-forth conversations by worrying if our camera angles are betraying our double-chins or exposing the mess in the background.
There’s a reason this face thing means so much to our evolution. As babies, the first thing we learn to decipher is the human face. Forty-two muscles convey billions of microexpressions, and our brains learn to catalog and synthesize every one of them. We develop this knowledge base on our own, without any cognitive blueprint, using only our onboard chemistry and biology. It’s the most advanced messaging system in all of existence.
Here’s something I’ve learned about facial microexpressions after not seeing any of them in person for three months: FaceTime may have gotten blazingly fast recently, but there’s still a little lag between my response and my partner’s smile. When video chat is your only form of face-to-face communication, that millisecond feels like an eternity. The whole gamut of our humanity exists in that very moment, and you ache for that time back when all it does is remind you of your isolation.
Then there’s the question of a physical connection. I never realized how powerful a hug really was until it became something that could kill all the people who’d exchange one with me.
And it’s this way for all of us. Fears and anxieties spring about in every corner of our lives anymore.
When dear friends of mine recently put together a socially-distanced birthday party for their son, I jumped at the chance to go. I knew their 8-year old had been having a rough time with all of this, and I suspected that any familiar face would help him feel a bit of joy on his special day. In fact, I was sure of it.
The whole thing happened in a flurry and was the diametric opposite of a standard birthday party in their household. Typically, birthday parties are loud and populous affairs, with kids running around everywhere and someone traipsing through the Beatles’ songbook on the piano, and there’s always pizza and coolers of sodas and lots of pastries. And they go on for hours. This event was small, self-contained, and over before anyone knew it. The only commonality was a table of pastries for the kids, and of course, the Beatles were still playing in the background. But even in that blitz of activity, I noticed that everyone seemed to shake off a moment of sadness or panic, and I also knew that feeling quite well. Turns out, you can spot the whole gamut of our humanity in that brief moment, too.
I was so happy and present at the party, but every mile closer to home was full of dread. By the time I climbed the stairs back into my apartment, I was bereft. Heartbroken. Flip on the lights down in D-Block, Margie. We’re headed back out to solitary.
And yet, all of that sadness dissipated when I began processing photos I had taken during the party. There were just a few images, but each one meant something to me, even if I had rendered everyone flat and one-dimensional yet again. Each photo was vibrant and colorful - a welcome change after a two-month black and white photo project. Between the monochromatic compositions and a few weeks of escalating societal tensions, everything had started to get a little contrasty. It was a good time for color to make a comeback. These were bright, beautiful photos of a smiling friend, of a father, enjoying his new daughter, of balloons, and streamers, and a turquoise VW bus. And of course, the birthday boy, in a candid and present embrace with his adoring mom (who co-orchestrated the whole thing).
Decorations are not unfamiliar subjects as far as birthday party photos are concerned, but they are powerful and profound images to experience after not seeing a smile for three months.
Today, my dad’s nursing home was kind enough to organize a socially-distanced reunion on the occasion of my parent’s 40th wedding anniversary. Once again, I had a chance to blitz through a moment of human connection.
This one, too, ended in a flash, and it was the diametric opposite of what would have constituted a regular visit to his nursing home, pre-lockdown. In fact, it had been so long since my mom and I have been able to visit that we’d each worried we’d forgotten the way there. We’ve been visiting him at this facility for years, but three months away, and suddenly it was time to get out the map.
Once again, I felt a heavy sadness on the drive home. Despite my desperation for a hug, I’ve had to reject them from my mom, and I’ve had to learn to embrace my dad with some metal framing and a double-glazed window between us.
I wonder what all of this time apart is doing to our genetics and biology. There’s no question that we’re not getting enough exercise or mental stimulation, and it’s certainly caused a disruption to our daily lives. But I worry that it’s also disrupted 70,000 years of human evolution when it comes to looking at another human being in the face and processing their tiniest of microexpressions. We’ve weathered the storms of global pandemics and migratory crises before. Still, the Oregon Trail was famously devoid of a Wifi connection. Hence, our propensity for human contact remained even in the time of dysentery.
I do believe this insane moment of equalization has given us a chance for something truly great. If nothing else, it has provided us a chance to see the power of our humanity. And I mean, to really see it. When anything this significant challenges our capacity for empathy, we have an opportunity to rediscover and re-embrace that empathy - to recognize and not take for granted how hugs and smiles are coded into our DNA. Empathy makes up the fabric of who we are. In other words, our humanity is at the heart of how we connect and communicate. It is literally what makes us human.