Friendships - Coming Together When Not Together
White wine, red wine, cookie dough ice cream and chocolate buttons. These are just some of the treats that have been dropped on my doorstep by a social distancing Deliveroo driver over the last few weeks.
No, I’m not just eating my way through lockdown - well, I am by effect - but no, these carrier bags of delights are in fact ‘chin up!’ comforts from my nearest and dearest, at a time when a hug can’t be granted.
When the UK found out that we could no longer see our friends for the foreseeable future - or at least past their head and shoulders in a weekly Zoom call - I entered a stage of panic. What if we lose touch? Who will offer a word of comfort for my feminine concerns? How will we bond without spilling all of our latest news over a third bottle of house chardonnay? Turns out that you can actually do on House Party.
We’ve always been told that friendships need to be nurtured. Unlike a romantic relationship or the innate family bond, there is no obligation to keep the spark alive. Each part must invest time, vulnerability and a listening ear, among other things, to develop evergreen affection. But how to do that when you are inexplicably told not to see each other?
Of course long distance friendships exist, while others excel only getting face time once every few months. But with no date in the diary for our next rendezvous, I became anxious that I’d become friendless.
In the third week of the national lockdown, I was made redundant from a new job that in a parallel universe would have been the stepping stone to my dream career. It was painful and unexpected.
My partner was - always is - a cushioned hug of reassurance. My family gave me future tense words of wisdom. My cat even licked away my tears (perhaps more figuratively speaking, although she did offer nose boops). But my friends - they didn’t sugarcoat it. They didn’t tell me it would all be ok in the end. In fact they told me it was preposterous. That it was an absolute kick in the tits and damned it, they were sorry. Somehow those were the words I really needed to hear. To know that I was understood. That my feelings were valid. That is was, in fact, just a bit shit.
A few then sent me jobs on LinkedIn. A couple listed achievements I should put in a portfolio. One even posted a make-your-own cheese kit to pass the time of unemployment. None of them did nothing. Despite not seeing their living, breathing selves for over a month, they showed up.
Before we lived in a time I refuse to call unprecedented, I’d always thought that the strength of friendship was based on how much you lived in each other’s pockets - whether that be in a Whatsapp group only you understand the name of - or of course more literally.
But it turns out that’s not the case.
Following a week off to DIY my bathroom, jigsaw and go from pasty to slightly pale, I posted the ‘I’m open to new opportunities’ update on social media. I was blown away. To my utmost surprise, I received an abundance of support from friends past and present. Some from previous jobs, some from my school days, some from friendships that had begun to quieten over the years but who I missed dearly. Each had the same genuine, heartwarming message - how can I help?
For the first time in our lives, we are experiencing the same devastating, bizarre sequence of events simultaneously. Yes, coronavirus is affecting us all in different strengths and volumes, but we can each immediately understand one another’s thought process. It has released a heightened sense of empathy.
Whether it be in a group chat, spontaneous video call or sliding into my DMs, I’ve been party to incredibly heartfelt, intimate conversations with friends old and new. The guards are down; we’ve overcome the barriers of small talk and can get right to the nitty-gritty. We share a collective sense of vulnerability. And my friendships have flourished.
In fact, never before have we spoken this much. The only time we had ever previously FaceTimed was when one of us was living in a different timezone. Now I love nothing more than an end of day gin with my girls, nattering away through my headphones on the kitchen step. We feel closer, more connected - despite the often bad connection. So for that at least, I’m extraordinarily grateful.
For now I’ll enjoy weekly movie nights where we simultaneously press play and stuff our faces with popcorn. Discussing their lockdown dating life or the mundane moments of groundhog day. Delivering care packages with freshly baked carrot cake. Receiving care packages with a home-sewn mask. And being a part of a unified voice for when a day turns out not so great.
I miss their faces dearly (and hearing them speak without a glitch) but for now I’ll relish in their virtual company. When it’s all over, they can come on in and we’ll tuck into my homemade cheese board.
Written by Eppie Shepherd
Eppie is a freelance copywriter and digital marketer in South London, where she lives with her boyfriend and miniature panther, Matilda T-Rex. She is as obsessed with words as she is with anything described as cheesy and is rarely seen without a book on her person.