If your social battery has felt depleted sometime in the last month then I think we may have some things in common. If you are fully unaware of your social battery, congratulations, it must be nice to be an extrovert. With the world taking another shot at return to “normal”, which essentially means wearing real clothes and seeing more than people’s torsos, myself and [hopefully] many others have been feeling some social strain.
Somehow during all of the Zoom classes, Zoom meetings, Zoom internships, and Zoom social events I became more comfortable sitting behind a screen than existing in real life. Quite the predicament now that people really want me to leave my house more than once a day. But more on that later.
I’d like to talk today about how I got so comfortable with my screens that I was able to develop a sense of belonging for things I had never fully seen, touched, or experienced. I worked for 6 months before ever meeting my co-workers or my cool office building in real life. Now that I go in-person to the office I am certain of two things.
1. I have a really cool job.
2. It has been an extremely long time since I have had to socialize with new people outside of my immediate age bracket.
The first day in the office was interesting, shocking, and did little to chip away at my to-do list. However, I did learn very important lessons that day. I forgot that most people can eat pizza (lactose and gluten are my downfall I guess), I sorely misjudged the height of many of my co-workers, and I was very used to working alone with nobody watching me. Thankfully there exists headphones and cubicle walls high enough that people can’t hear me talking to myself.
The chaos of my work itself aside, I was extremely nervous to meet these people and have them get to know me. Everyone else in the office is already great friends, meaning that when people are reunited, I get shoved to a quiet corner to witness a reunion waiting for my quick introduction as “one of the new people.” No tea, no shade, it’s just awkward. That’s another thing. I’m the youngest person in the office. I genuinely don’t know if my co-workers understand my Gen Z slang or out of pocket humor.
My co-workers did know me to some extent before meeting me in-person that day. I have no idea if I subconsciously planned this or if I was just that bored, but my “get to know me” conversation starters were my Zoom backgrounds. A rotating cast of elaborate and aesthetic backdrops from my favorite and latest TV obsessions were my ticket into talking about myself, my young person ways, and my favorite TV shows. If you haven’t heard my thoughts on why TV reflects our personalities there’s a nice blog article waiting for you here.
But there’s only so much a Zoom background can do. Yes, my Arcane and Legend of Korra cityscape backgrounds make me look nerdy and young. I also think they make me look a little ~gay~, but when you work with people over the age of 25 who are not on #gaytiktok they might not get the same memo. So, I added a Centaurworld (available on Netflix) rainbow road background to my collection to see if anyone would notice.
^This is the beautiful Centaurworld background to provide some visual assistance. If you want a show about chosen family and belonging then this is it. The songs are also wack.
I didn’t realize how annoying and worrisome coming out was until I realized I had a new and large group of people who maybe were not aware of one of the biggest parts of my identity. Bringing your whole self to work is difficult when you haven’t had to carry the “coming out burden” in a while. In my virtual world I had kept my circle small, so small that everyone I knew was aware of my sexual orientation. Or they were cut out of my circle. Basically, our shared virtual reality meant that if coming out to a person was too hard, I could just ignore them and eventually all their relevance to my life would fade away. It was easy, sometimes a cop out, and it removed all the toxic people. But virtual reality is not our full reality.
Another theme in virtual belonging is that while it exists and thrives given the social connections that can be made, it is no replacement for real and tangible engagement. When I first came to terms with my sexuality during quarantine, I was scrolling through TikTok and having late night texting conversations with my bestie about things I couldn’t verbalize but I could text about. Despite being shut off to the physical world, I was still able to connect to a queer community and found comfort in seeing others who were going through the same thing I was. With few people I could talk to, I turned to online communities (yes, fan fiction was one of them) to dive into this new interest that 80% of my social circle at the time was fully unaware of. I think TikTok helped Gen Z come out, not because of its seemingly psychic algorithm but because it hosted content and connections that made marginalized people feel numerous and seen. I felt fully immersed in the LGBTQ+ community and I hadn’t even had an in-person conversation about it. I felt included. Yet inclusion is not quite belonging.
The difference between inclusion and belonging is a fine line because it is in the eyes of the beholder. Borrowing a phrase usually said about beauty, belonging is about feeling valued which can only be determined by the receiving individual. My toxic relationship taught me that even if you value someone beyond measure, it doesn’t matter if the other person is unwilling to accept or believe it (big oof, I know). Thankfully, my workplace friendships are a lot healthier. If inclusion is a seat at the table, belonging is feeling listened to and like an integral part of the team.
The reason why I love my job is because it centers around my passions and interests, and I’m surrounded by people that have the same passions and interests, yet I still feel unique. My Zoom backgrounds, my 50% thrifted wardrobe, and my young person humor make me feel like I have a seat at the table. A seat with a ready and chilled passionfruit La Croix because they know it’s my favorite flavor. I feel like I belong there. Stepping into the physical office I realized that the people make it better, bearable, and also meaningful. I collect a paycheck while also developing friendships and enjoying a place where I feel I belong. Boom, there it is. Belonging in a virtual world that isn’t so virtual anymore.
So here I am. A sometimes socially awkward, but still funny, twenty something who now must re-engage with the other humans around me. Ugh, sometimes I’d rather just take a nap. Except I haven’t taken a nap in months. Something was missing from my life during my virtual, shut-in days that is no longer missing. I was missing belonging, genuine belonging that is felt in-person.
I’m not trying to say I never belonged anywhere, that would discredit the massive community of people that got me to this point and helped shape who I am today. I was missing belonging in my queer identity and at work. I found my queer community once I went back in-person to Seton Hall. As much as I resent that school, I relish in the depth of community and friendship it brought me (note that I said depth, quality over quantity folks). At work, having people to complain with but also dissect movies with makes all the tedious tasks and other job-related problems worth it. With a 95% confidence interval, I’m certain that there is a significant decrease in the amount of job-related complaining I do since going in-person to work. In-person work helped me remember that I work with real humans, with real complicated and diverse lives, and we get to work together to solve real-life problems. The world is wild sometimes but at least it’s real.
I think I made the best of a bad situation; my virtual existence was not exactly miserable, but it was good given the world’s circumstance. I was still able to learn, grow, and achieve some sense of security. However, I got a little too comfortable, so comfortable behind a screen that I forgot life wasn’t supposed to be virtual, two-dimensional. So, while I love my comfort zones, I cannot stagnate in this faux security net of virtual reality.
I recently moved to New York City, cleaned out my old bedroom, and am setting up my new apartment. A new beginning sounds cheesy and I’m lactose intolerant so that will never do. But I have lots of lactaid pills, so I’ll carry on. This fresh start is an opportunity to reorient myself. After two years of avoidance and staying inside, I think it’s time that I started experiencing, doing, and feeling things. This conclusion is getting largely whimsical and idealistic. I should probably just stop writing and go outside to enjoy the sunshine.
While I go replenish my Vitamin D and experience life so I have new things to write about, I encourage you to look for where in your life you can find and provide belonging for yourself and others. Until next time 😊.
Authentically,
Amy Chin
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