A year of Isolation or How I learned to love people in the time of Covid.
By: Kyle West
Tags: Loneliness, Gratitude, Isolation, Psychology

I joined the exodus.

I sold my house in the city, packed up my stuff and moved to a remote rural location. I wasn’t the only one to do this. Over the summer there was intense competition to purchase property. Unconditional offers after a video tour were common and, after missing out on a few potentials, I felt very fortunate to be able to secure something with a few acres and enough rooms for a family of four. I ended up much further away from anywhere than I had planned, and the stress of moving almost ended my marriage, but here we are, surrounded by trees without a neighbour in sight.

What I do see, for the first time, really see, are stars. Not the dim, hazed stars shrouded in the smog blanket of the city but pulsing stars, bright and clear, alive and more than a little frightening. These are the stars I had only heard about, the night sky worshiped by ancients. These are the constellations from the celestial maps, traced out by the fingers of storytellers and scientists, described by poets. Walking through the shadows of the pines into the meadow, my first sight of a clear unobstructed night sky buckled my knees and left me truly humbled. What worries, what trivial concerns, could matter when confronted by the immensity of the universe? Now, whenever I start to get mad at the kids or the doubt about the debt starts to gnaw away at me I go outside and look at the stars and let the astonishment clear my head.

I spend a lot of time looking at stars because it is difficult to sleep at night. The lack of noise is deafening; no sirens, no horns, no raccoons clambering into the recycling bin, my ears strain to hear something, anything, and a stomach growl makes me startle. When I do get to sleep, my dreams of late are of people, lots of people. I dream of the city, of neighbours dropping in, of strangers passing by. I dream of a tiny yard with a broken gate where strangers ask pointed questions and offer unsolicited advice, of apartments crammed with people all talking at once, the air so thick with conversation it is like a heat wave on asphalt. These would have been nightmares before the move but now I awake with a sense of satisfaction, near relief, the easing of a longing.

It is a great privilege to be self-employed in a knowledge-based career that allows freedom to work from anywhere. To be rid of the commute and avoid the frustrating, often exhausting, interactions with co-workers is a blessing. However the emotional impact of being alone in the wilderness without seeing another person all day is more than I anticipated. As much as I winced at the elbow to kidney contact on a crowded subway, sighed at the pace of pedestrians crossing at an intersection and sneered at the shuffling lineups of pretentious people at Starbucks, without those daily interactions, even those silent and resentful interactions, I feel lonely and afraid.

We are all suffering from isolation sickness these days. When you combine the need to distance ourselves from each other with a remote location, the effects of loneliness multiply. The feeling of being alone, of being surrounded by emptiness, leads to the overwhelming despair that can dampen any spark of happiness. To combat that horrible sensation, I have found a greater appreciation for people. The random contacts are cherished. The trips to the library, hardware store, grocer, even to the town dump, are filled with the excitement of potential human contact and I look at each person I see with greater appreciation.

They say people in the country are nicer, but that is not necessarily true. The people in the country are as nice, or as grumpy, as people anywhere, they just have more time to share and less reluctance to tell you how they feel. The main difference with country people is the encounters with strangers. In the city, no one expects to know anyone so we walk around with our eyes down and avoid looking at each other. In the country, there is every reason to believe that the person you are passing knows you and so you keep your head up and seek out the other person’s eyes and give at least a friendly nod if you don’t know their name, most often a “G’day” and a friendly conversation about the weather follows. An acknowledgment of another person is so much more important out here where there are so few people. We can’t afford to be silent and resentful.

On the edge of Holiday Season, the effects of isolation and the impact of loneliness are magnified, but so are the positives. I appreciate my family so much more now and the true joy of being together at this time is magnified by the remoteness of the rural setting. The same appreciation for people applies to my recruiting work. I have always found the connections with people to be the most rewarding part of the job, but now, when calling from a bubble of isolation in the middle of nowhere, I have truly learned to be thankful for each person I encounter. Applying that to a professional recruiting practice going forward, I intend to be much more giving of my time and much more diligent about responding to those in need. Paying it forward, for me, is about giving forth that which is most precious; a kind word, patience and taking time to listen and appreciate each person I encounter.

If learning to be more grateful for my fellow humans is the result of isolation then I have found something to be truly grateful for in this year of the pandemic.