“You’re good at those conversations!” a friend remarked recently. We were out riding bikes. I was ahead, and we were discussing — what else? — COVID-19.
She was pointing out that even in times that don’t require odd, awkward conversations with friends about social distancing, I’m good at communicating. I generally agree with her. I don’t seek out conflict, but I don’t avoid it either. I prefer to have tough conversations rather than let feelings simmer and mutate under the surface.
That makes it sound so simple and straightforward, but for me the discomfort of raising hard topics is better than the discomfort of not saying anything. I strongly dislike withholding. (I hate keeping surprises; this time of year with a gift-giving extravaganza around the corner is terrible.) I like to be as genuine and open as I can, in the interest of connecting with people. So I usually choose hard conversations, even though my heart pounds when I imagine the 50 catastrophic ways one could go.
What occurred to me while biking, and what I said to my friend was: “I think I am usually pretty good at those conversations. But talking about COVID-19 boundaries is hard.”
Here’s what I do in approaching going outside with friends right now. This is not the end-all-be-all list, but I’m COVID-free and haven’t lost any friendships so far, so something’s working.
Know your rules
Our knowledge about COVID-19 is still evolving. Oh, we’re a lot better off than we were in March. But let’s be real: The shifting guidance from public health experts is frustrating because — well, because a lot of it has been tragically politicized, but also because our knowledge about the virus itself is incomplete.
Example: The 6-foot rule? It didn’t come from a manual that was published with the virus. It’s a best-educated guess.
What do we do with this? If you’re a by-the-book rule follower, it’s maddening to try to keep up.
Instead, take in information periodically. And establish your own personal and family dos and don’ts.
For me, I’m high-risk. So my husband and I are what he calls “aggressively distanced.” Our rules for going outside with others:
• We only go outside.
• No carpooling.
• Group size capped at four, including us.
• We assess our level of exposure against our friends.
• If we’re more holed up than they are, we ask to go ahead during any given activity. That’s how I’ve found my slow self at the head of many a recent hike!
• We don’t share food or drink, and if items need to be tossed back and forth for any reason, we carry hand sanitizer.
Avoid COVID contortionism
When I go outside with people, I treat it as though they have COVID-19.
This means my approach to distancing is not what I call “COVID contortionism.” You know what I mean — the inclination to stretch the general public health guidance to its furthest, semi-logical conclusion.
You might say things like, oh, but we could all hang out outside together if we had a sheltered structure, like ... a tent ... with walls (isn’t that just creating a new inside, outside?).
Or, “If we stay 5 feet apart in the hot tub, but breathe in different directions, that should be fine.”
This reminds me of the time I was a kid playing in a kiddie pool in my best friend’s backyard. One of us confessed to peeing. Neither of us wanted to get out. So, we cleverly figured out where the urination had happened, and spent the rest of our play time scrupulously avoiding the pee-part.
I was pretty young but I still remember thinking at some point that afternoon, “I don’t think this makes any sense.”
Communicate
The hard part. Be ready to say what your approach is, ask others questions, and establish an agreement. And be ready to check in — with yourself and your friends — about how it’s going, and adjust as needed.
I default to “I” statements. It’s easier for me to disclose what I’m doing with the information I’m getting, without conveying absolutes or judgment. I understand there are different levels of perceived risk, and necessity to exposure.
I also ask “Is it OK with you if ...” questions, which give the other person the opportunity to negotiate. I’m still stating my approach. But if it’s not workable for the other person, it’s OK for them to opt out; if there are alternative solutions, it leaves that door open.
Finally, I acknowledge that this is weird. It is. It is not intuitive to have these conversations, especially not with the enormous amount of uncertainty, stress and grief threaded through this entire situation.
We’re trying to navigate something that is deeply fraught. It’s fraught given the stakes of reducing the spread of the virus and our own exposure, but also because it feels so unnatural to talk about these boundaries with people. I honestly just want to give my friends a hug when I see them, not feel low-key worried about whether we’re standing far enough apart.
For anyone struggling with having hard conversations around distancing when outside with others, know you feel this way because it IS hard. There’s no easy or one-size-fits-all way to know your limits and have the conversations, but please do. As Alaskans, we’re lucky to have an enormous backyard to share, and we need to be responsible as we do.
Alli Harvey lives in Palmer and plays in Southcentral Alaska.