We're All Just Real People

Like many of you, I have spent the better part of the last three weeks working from home. While not super ideal in my line of work, I have made do, setting up a make-shift office space in what is usually our formal dining room (who uses theirs anyway), and on occasion I move my home office to the patio outside (my preferred quarantine workspace despite the pollen). The WFH lifestyle isn't my first choice, but it has to do for now. Instead, I have settled for really short commute and a workspace where all the coffee and snacks are free. Kind of.

But I miss people.  I miss my morning coffee roundup with the office suite gals and the pass-through drop-by's with colleagues. I miss seeing students, hugging those in need of a little extra care, and high-fiving those getting much anticipated transfer acceptance letters.  I miss walking around our campus - at a time of year when its springtime beauty steps proudly forward - seeing people not normally on my routine path, like long lost friends at a high school reunion. See, it's the people that make up a college.

Instead, I'm here. At my dining room table alone. The grandfather clock incessantly ticking, echoing through an empty house. 

Luckily, we have ways. The wonder of technology still allows me to connect and see and hear the people I miss, and sometimes I can even imagine this day without the virus. I have FaceTimed more in the last three weeks that I have collectively FaceTimed ever. I have WebEx Meetinged and WebEx Teamed and Facebook Lived and Zoomed. Here's what I'm learning: these people who I miss so dearly are all real, human people, and I'm learning to love them even more at a distance. I thought I knew them, but I think I really know them now.

Executives are mothers in charge of 3 year-olds with toys and imaginations, and they point out when no one answers questions in meetings. 

Intelligent faculty known for impressive, high expectations are also overrun with emotion and compassion for their students.

Staff who are used to interruptions from students use that same longing glance at their pets, who walk over keyboards and feign for a little attention. 

My put together, dressed to the nines, friends love a comfy t-shirt and yoga pants just like God intended.

And others are, like me, sitting alone in their unused dining rooms, lost in the moment and looking for another person to arrive.

There's just something about seeing someone in their natural habitat. Their home. The place where they lay their head every night. Where they come home to people and animals they love. Where they eat their favorite food and listen to their favorite song. These spaces we've been confined to are the places that hold all the things that make us who we are. We aren't just the title on our business card. Rather, we are a whole, complete person serving a mighty important role as we build an online college in a week, but who also wipe tears from crying children, mow the growing grass, wash dinner's dirty dishes, and who now, don their mask and gloves to buy groceries. Perhaps the expanding virus might also be growing our heightened sense of humanity for one another. 

They say when one sense weakens, others strengthen, and I think my people senses are heightened in this age of solitude and quarantine. I'm noticing people and their humanity probably more than ever. Perhaps I'm paying too much attention who might be approaching my six-foot area, but it seems that we're looking each other in the eye a bit more. We don't miss asking someone how they are, and we seem to really want to know the answer. We take precautions when we're out, not just to protect ourselves, but to protect those around us. We take a little extra time and care to say, "Stay well." In fact, we really mean it.

I think about all the things that will be different when I'm able to return to my office with a skyline view, regaining my morning coffee chat, student high-fives, and the whole bit. I won't miss the ticking clock or the empty room, but I sure hope we get to keep some of what we've learned about one another. I hope to remember to ask about the dog or the cat and the bouncing kid who passes by our meetings. I hope we all retain a bit more of our attention to one another and look each other in the eyes as we walk our path forward. Most of all, I hope we retain our sense of humanity, remembering that we patiently suffered this current moment together...apart. And I hope we continue offering that solid look upon each other's faces, generously offering our meaningful wishes to stay well in the days ahead.