Audio Version:
Just a quick note that the audio version Grey Area is also also now available.
"Monday, again," someone would inevitably say at nearly every office job I ever had.
"Yeah, Monday," another voice would pop in, along with the obligatory growl, shrug, frown, yawn, or sign of agitation or boredom.
Every time this happened, I would think, "What on Earth is it about a day of the week that warrants conversation?"
Same goes for comments on the weather, "April already, can you believe it?!?! Wasn't it just January?" Well, yes, I can believe it, seeing as April has been three months after January ever since the Gregorian calendar was invented.
Such are the social rituals of office life, which accumulate at especially high frequency around totem objects such as the Keurig/communal coffeepot or printer/copier. It always felt strange watching otherwise talented, creative, smart, and interesting people reduced to such mundanities.
Don't get me wrong, as an A-student, I did my best to study social rituals and play along. Also, to be fair, you don't have to be neurodivergent to find these rituals bizarre or unsettling. The office has so many weird social rituals rife for comedic sendup. Hence, The Office (both the UK or US versions) or my preferred take: 1999's Office Space (it's the "flair" and printer smashing scenes that really do it for me.)
Unfortunately, it’s not only office chit-chat, but all instances of seemingly meaningless small talk that left me perplexed. I also lack a filter for certain social situations. For instance, my mom was a nurse. In my house, we talked freely about body parts, bowel movements, excretions, bumps, and orifices. When my mom had her gallbladder removed, I brought some of her gallstones to biology class. I thought they were cool—in a totally gross and disgusting way, of course.
Apparently not.
The boundaries that other people seem to come by naturally—or are really good at faking—take a lot more effort for me. I always felt like everyone else had a script that I was not privy to. I was doing my best to play along, but with many social situations, I would leave utterly exhausted.
Operating Systems
I love it when someone explains a social concept to me as a mathematical formula or diagram.
For instance, someone once explained intimacy to me like this:
Imagine a set of white concentric circles on a black background.
Outside of the circle are the strangers.
In the very center, are your most intimate relationships—romantic partners, your closest friends, family—basically the people who have your back and love you unconditionally no matter what.
The in-between circles represent intermediary states: acquaintance, neighbor, dates, colleagues, activity partners, friends.
This wise mentor told me that I had a way of letting people in too soon, going deep into a serious topic or offering up sensitive information before it was sensible.
“Don't give someone you don't know access to your operating system,” they said. “Don’t give your trust to people who have not earned it.”
The world of online communities offers a venue for connection without the typical social demands of in-person environments. You can go pantsless for instance.
Like a lot of folks, I have found allies online and people with whom I have more in common than the people in my immediate physical locale.
There’s also the sense of belonging that has often eluded me in physical spaces; online spaces are easy to come in and out of, a place to try out different avatars or versions of oneself. That, for me, is the best of what social media can offer.
But these spaces also present a challenge. The relative anonymity of sitting behind a screen can make us bypass common rituals that occur when we meet face to face. Along with that, a false intimacy can develop where we get right to the heart of a matter before we’ve exchanged names or built any sort of relationship.
Loneliness as Phenomena
Loneliness has become a widespread issue, with studies indicating that anywhere from a quarter to over half of adults in the U.S. report persistent feelings of loneliness. A 2018 report by the Henry J. Kaiser Family Foundation states that 22% of adults in the U.S. often or always feel lonely or socially isolated. A 2019 national survey led by health insurer Cigna found that 61% of Americans report feeling lonely. And it’s not just the US. In response to this growing problem, the U.K. appointed a “minister for loneliness” in 2018, and Japan followed suit in 2021.
Despite the alarm, most current loneliness interventions fall short due to the complexity of loneliness, a heterogeneous construct that varies amongst individuals and across cultures. As Drs. Samia C. Akhter-Khan and Rhoda Au point out in their study of loneliness interventions, mental health-oriented treatment focused on the individual is often weak and ineffective because it fails to address loneliness’s powerful environmental and cultural causes.
Jeremy Nobel, president of the Foundation for Art & Healing, launched “The UnLonely Project” in 2016 with the aim to increase public awareness of loneliness and to lessen its impact. According to Nobel, loneliness can be categorized into three types: psychological or interpersonal loneliness, existential loneliness, and societal loneliness. Interpersonal loneliness refers to the longing for meaningful connections and friendships. Existential loneliness is about questioning one's place in the universe and the meaning and purpose of one's life. Societal loneliness occurs when a person feels unwelcome or excluded due to societal prejudices based on race, class, gender, sexuality, disability, physical appearance, or age. This type of loneliness hinges on the question: “If I enter a room, is my arrival both anticipated and welcomed?”
The question remains: has the pandemic left us more isolated, or has it simply highlighted the isolation that was already there? And more importantly, how do we move forward?
The pandemic brought with it a wave of isolation that rippled across the globe, a tidal wave of solitude that left noone untouched. I watched as people, so used to their social routines, grappled with this new reality. I struggled too, but I also felt enormous relief from the labyrinth of unspoken rules, inexplicable small talk, and overwhelming sensory overloads of “normal” social interaction.
While some humorously suggest that TikTok led to a surge in autism self-identification, I’d offer up that it was the isolation of the pandemic, and the reprieve from obligatory social rituals, that allowed a lot of undiagnosed autistic individuals like me to begin to recognize what was wrong.
Do Over
During the pandemic, I discovered that what truly energizes me are social interactions revolving around a "third thing"—shared activities like games, crafting, or writing side by side. These activities allow me to connect with others without the draining intensity of conventional social gatherings. I found joy in embracing my passions, such as role-playing games and fantasy & Sci-fi novels, hobbies I had previously shelved in favor of appearing like a serious person.
The enforced isolation of the pandemic led to a profound self-discovery. It allowed me to drop my masks and embrace my true self, leading to a realization that I couldn't go back to pretending or enduring meaningless cocktail conversations.
It helped me understand my need for written instructions or clear objectives in the workplace, highlighting the importance of specificity in my professional life.
As we return to a world where social interactions are again the norm, I am hopeful.
The pandemic has provided us a chance to pause, reassess our social norms, and hopefully, come to a greater understanding and acceptance of different ways of socializing.
I am calling this period "The Great Friendship Reset," not because I am discarding my old friendships, but because I'm finding new ones that align with my rediscovered interests and help me thrive in my own unique way.
As we navigate the post-pandemic world, I see this period as a unique opportunity for a "do-over,” an opportunity to seek out social situations that bring us greater joy and fulfillment, rather than simply enduring the status quo for the status quo’s sake.
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