Hey! Hi. Hi there, how are you?

Oh, hi! It’s me. Remember me? I think it’s still me, anyway. Are you still you?

Whoops! That was a funny question. I meant, how are you? You don’t have to answer that. It was more or less always rhetorical air-filler. But also, here’s a better question: did you ever think you’d live through a global pandemic and wake up one day, step out into the warm sun, blink your eyes and listen to the birds singing and the squirrels chittering as you ponder everything you’ve recently lost and all the knowledge and perspective you’ve gained? And that you’d reflect on the many and unfathomable ways in which you will profoundly never be the same and how virtually everyone you know—and don’t know—has been altered in the fibers of their beings? And that then you’d see someone after thinking all of this—a real, human person who isn’t related to you by blood or paperwork—after what had felt like a genuine lifetime of self-imposed, anxiety-ridden, fearful isolation, and in that moment your mind would kick into some kind of low-power, battery saving mode and your brain would become entirely reliant on muscle memory such that all you can really think to say aloud is, “how are you?” Did you ever think that? That that might happen? Ha ha, me too.

I mean neither. Me neither.

But like, really, how are you?

Personally? I am weird. I don’t mean I feel strange. I mean I am truly and irreversibly peculiar. As it turns out, going from a life of solitude in which you must regard every social interaction as a potential life-or-death situation to something resembling “normal” is extremely destabilizing. If you’re a people person like me, you spent the hardest months of the pandemic feeling adrift and depressed. We extroverts knew what we needed, and we quickly discovered that virtual trivia is some ice-cold comfort. And then you were thrown back into it and you were probably like, “yaaaay people!” But then you went to a place filled with acquaintances and friends with whom you’re expected to converse casually and fluently and you were suddenly all, “oh my holy fuck this is hard. Was it always this hard? Why do I like this? Did I ever like this? What’s wrong with me? Who am I? Is this how you eat chips in front of other humans? Like, one at a time and not palm directly on top of open mouth? Yes, yes, it’s coming back now. Wait, do I sit while we’re talking if the other person is standing? She’s not sitting. Should I stand up? How did we find ourselves in this position? If I stand up, will she think I’m ending the conversation? I feel like I’m looking up her nose. This can’t be right. I shouldn’t talk about the pandemic, don’t talk about the pandemic. Oh my god, stop it. Stop it. Not anecdotal breakthrough cases! Why aren’t you stopping it? Did you just ask why other viruses still exist as your child coughs up a lung on the swings? Ha ha, it’s definitely a different virus! She’s not laughing. It’s not funny. You’re not funny. Were you ever funny? Must double back and interview pre-pandemic friends, High Fidelity style. Whatever you do, just don’t say you’re just ready for this to be over because that’s the dumbest shit ev—I SAID DON’T DO THAT! Pivot, damn it. Talk about TV. Easy, safe. But by TV, we all agree that means TikTok videos right? The ones that run through your brain like a constantly scrolling reel at all hours of the day and night? That’s got to be normal. Shit she doesn’t know any viral goat accounts. Pivot again! Probably don’t talk about death and grief and how you’re pretty sure your mind has been opened to a 4th dimension of consciousness and how as a result you’re quite certain you understand the afterlife of the soul hahahaha oh my god is this all happening out loud right now? Has this entire internal vomit attack been coming out of your actual mouth? Have you been talking this entire time? Or . . . have you not talked in a very, very long time? Has this all just been happening loudly inside your head but in actuality you’ve been sitting and staring up wordlessly at a standing woman for 6 straight minutes with a fistful of potato chips raised to face level?”

Is that . . . is that what you were like? No, no, me too.

I mean neither. Me neither. Also.

At previous transitional junctures in my life, I have recalled feeling awkward around new people. It happened when I had my first baby and had to meet other moms. It happened again when I moved from the city to the suburbs. Each time, I remember clearly the feeling of, for lack of a better phrase, going on blind dates with potential new friends. I was eager to find my people but lacked confidence in a new element and worried about saying the wrong thing. So, naturally, I toggled between paralytic silence and uncontrollable verbal diarrhea. As one does. I recall both times feeling that things would have been so much easier if I could have just produced written references from friends in my previous life who could have vouched for my valuable and consistently entertaining friendship.

“I recognize I’m not representing myself in my best light right now,” I would have said. “I can do better, I swear. But don’t take my word for it. Here, take a look at what these 3-5 articulate, funny women have to say about my company. Wouldn’t you like to be their friend? Well, I am! It’s going quantifiably improve if you stick it out, we promise.”

I think about this now, because I don’t know if those references would be considered relevant any longer. Much like my professional resume at this point, my social CV is more or less a historical document. It isn’t even fair to compare myself as I am with who I once was. She and I, we’re in a whole new ballfield. We’re playing an entirely new game. The goalposts have moved and [extended sports metaphor]. Know what I mean?

Unfortunately, as discomfited as I am by social interaction in my present skin, the fact remains that I require it. Once an extrovert, always an extrovert. My energy will forever derive from human contact, no matter how twisted and draining and conflicted that experience may now feel.

If you know, you know. If you don’t know, you will probably want to avoid me in the proximate-to-distant future. Either way, I look forward to staring into the middle distance near you as I fidget with my cup and accidentally swallow an ice cube whole while laughing to myself about how you reminded me of a funny dog meme.

Anyway, I guess what I’m trying to say is, I am RSVPing yes to the kind invitation to your drinks thing. It’s amazing Paperless Post has such a generous character count.