FAMILY, SOCIAL
Secretly Thriving
Covid-19: A time for introverts and internal communications managers
We are two for two in our family. Two girls, two boys. Two introverts, two extroverts.
The extroverts — eldest brother, youngest sister — shuddered, even during the earliest days, at the thought of the impending claustrophobia that apparently comes with not seeing people for days on end.
My youngest brother and I looked at each other and shrugged.
I’ve shrugged many times since.
In Ireland, Covid hit late February. At that time, my sister and I were sharing an apartment in Dublin city centre.
One night, from our second floor window we spotted our neighbours across the way packing up and shipping out. Computer monitors and keyboards that didn’t fit in suitcases gave all away.
We yelled out the window at the neighbours whom we’d never seen before. Never spoken to.
“Are ye heading home?”
It seemed a no-brainer. The denser the population, the higher the infection rates. Yet, here we were, still in limbo and shouting at our unsuspecting neighbours. They didn’t seem to mind.
“Aye, home-home”, they yelled.
They weren’t waiting for the inevitable travel restrictions, or notice of mandatory work-from-home for all non-essentials. They were getting out. Evacuating.
“We’re half-thinking the same ourselves”, I yelled, “stay safe!”
“You too!”
I haven’t seen them since.
A few days later, the blister decided to follow suit. By then we had been given a softly-softly labeled “stay at home” order. No non-essential journeys, please and thank you. An extraction plan was formulated. Despite our government’s reticence towards enforcement the mother wasn’t taking any chances.
Be ready by 9am she warned.
That evening we laughed for the sake of relief. We laughed as we decided that no, a tennis racket wasn’t essential, but a pair of night-out heels were. We laughed at the prospect of not seeing each other for three weeks, or maybe four. We had grown accustomed to living in the same house again. It was fun.
By 9.15am I was moving my “desk” from the kitchen table, to the real desk in the corner. Formerly a bookshelf / craft station / thingamabob-putter-onner it was finally going to live out its true purpose, thrive in delivering all it could as a real live desk.
To the left of the desk, the window overlooking our street would become my best friend. The same we shouted out a few nights before.
“TikTok Girl is at it again,” I’d text my sister, spying on a local teen who, throughout the week, would dash out to the street, record a dance and disappear again.
Three weeks became three months. Three months spent in the wee Dublin apartment all on my ownsome.
Three wonderful months of somewhat solitude. Somewhat, because truth be told, I was exhausted from video chats. My “social” interactions were at an all time high.
The well-intentioned check-ins of friends and family filled every evening. I overbooked myself on occasion, juggling Zoom and WhatsApp on laptop and phone.
Yes, I was fine on my own. No, I wasn’t bored. No, I don’t have news, should I? Do you? Does anyone?
I concluded: it’s much more difficult to cancel plans when no-one has any.
In work, things got hectic.
Internal communications were constant. Our employees were connecting, reaching out, linking in, banding together, standing together, and at comms HQ we were making sure that everyone knew we were connecting, reaching out, linking in, banding together, standing together.
Each week a new communication. A newsletter. A video. A story of our colleagues supporting their communities, their customers, their colleagues, their family.
Mask-wearing factory workers, and kitchen-sitting office workers.
Parents united as they double jobbed. New recruits logged on remotely. Glasses wearers cursed, wiped the fog from their lenses and continued with their day. Our site-specific bubbles burst. We were connected with Colombia and Italy, and Spain and Costa Rica. Everything was a bit shit. And everyone agreed.
The art of internal comms had come into its own. Top of every agenda instead of sitting silently in the “if we have time” column.
As the demands on our team to keep everyone happy, smiling and quiet increased, I fell in love with work from home. The unsolicited interruptions of “could you just…” and “would you mind…” were gone. I could sit by myself at lunch and recharge. I could change my status to “do not disturb” in a single click. And, it worked.
Secretly, in a world that was crying, I was thriving.
I was aware of my privilege every waking, walking moment.
I said nothing, but whispered to myself “that’s ok, you’re allowed to thrive.”
As daylight leaked into the evenings and summer crept in I went home-home. I missed the privilege of the Atlantic sea air. The privilege of 5km stretching to 10km in rural Ireland as long as we all kept quiet.
Slowly, outdoor dining returned. You could meet with a friend or two. The buzz returned to Dublin, and the countryside reverted to being the quieter option. My sister and I traded places. She returned to the lonely apartment a couple of weeks after I left.
For the next few months we each dodged between home-home, Dublin home, work from home and lay at home as the curtain of restrictions wore its legs thin. Encore upon encore.
One evening in September, together again, we walked to a local bar, ordered too many chips and sat drinking Belgian beers, pretending we were on the continent. We were giddy with the “risk” we felt we were taking. The air still carried the quiet numbness of restricted movements. A junkie stumbled by. We laughed once more. We were definitely in Dublin.
Not long after, I moved out. I moved half-way across the country. Near home-home, but not home-home. Now, I can see the sea from my desk. I pay less rent. If I get sick of my introverted boyfriend, or he of I, I can move room. On more than two occasions, we have used restrictions as an excuse to remain united in our shared introversion.
In work, internal communications has become a key business priority. A new global strategy is on the cards. Our communications may not have saved lives, but they made a difference to a few. They helped people cherish their jobs. They helped me cherish mine.
I count my blessings. I’m glad the business world favours extroverts and their constant need for connection.
I tremble when I think of the once-in-a-blue-moon job I turned down, for no good reason, November two years ago, well before Wuhan, that would have left me unemployed.
I call my little brother. It’s a short call. He’s enjoying online college and not having to say no to parties.
I hang up and mentally prepare myself to call my sister who has sent ten texts already today. It’s 10am and she’s yearning for company.
As the dial tone purrs I browse LinkedIn. There are twelve new internal comms roles that went live today alone. Six of them are remote work only.
The introverts awake.
