This pandemic has pushed on for more than a year now and it has taken a lot from people. However, as the vaccine rollout is moving more efficiently now and we see that light at the end of the tunnel giving us hope that soon life may start getting back to normal, I have started to worry about something. I think I have forgotten how to talk with people.
As editor of a news publication and an active member of the LGBTQ community, I interact with a lot of people all the time. At least I used to, like we all did, back in the before time. There was always a fundraiser or mixer or a Pride event going on. I would go to cover it or attend as a community member to show support, raise awareness or in some cases take advantage of the open bar.
The socializing aspect of being a journalist has always been one of my favorite parts of the job, but as COVID-19 seeped into every corner of our existence, the events were cancelled and the socials went virtual. What used to be a face-to-face interview became frozen faces on Zoom.
That brings me back to that light at the end of that tunnel. As more and more of us are getting vaccinated, more and more in-person events will start to pop back up. One such event happened a few weeks ago as local members of the Gender Advancement Project, Divas in Dialogue, One Orlando Alliance and Come Out With Pride joined representatives from the National Trans Visibility March at HÄOS on Church in Orlando. They shared their huge announcement that the visibility march, which drew thousands of transgender and gender nonconforming activists to Washington, D.C. in September 2019, would be happening once again, this time in Orlando during Come Out With Pride in October.
On the day of the announcement, I got to HÄOS early so I would have the chance to chat with some of the event organizers before everyone started to show up. As I chatted with them about the news they would be announcing, I found my hands getting clammy and my heart rate started to increase. I have a history of panic attacks and anxiety but it usually wasn’t tied to socializing with people. As a hypochondriac, my anxiety was always rooted in my fear of getting sick, having a heart attack and/or dying.
I started to notice as more people showed up and the familiar faces of those in the community I hadn’t seen in a while approached me to ask how things are going, I had forgotten the art of small talk. Small talk is “polite conversation about unimportant or uncontroversial matters, especially as engaged in on social occasions,” at least that is how Google defines it, and it is a necessity in this profession and something I was always pretty good at. But as I engaged in conversation and started to rack my brain for topics to discuss, I drew a blank. I had nothing, just awkward laughs and no words. I felt like I was back in high school trying to talk to the popular kids.
As the event went on and people started chatting in small groups, I thought that my awkwardness would start to subside since I wouldn’t have to engage in one-on-one conversation but as people talked I couldn’t make out what they were saying — thanks to the masks — and everything that came out of my mouth sounded weird, loud and muffled, at least to me. Could they hear it? Were they aware of how awkward I felt? Did they too feel awkward and weird in this now foreign social interaction?
Just when I thought all hope was lost and my head was going to explode, the event’s speakers took to the podium and we all took our seats. My anxiety started to subside but, as anyone who suffers with anxiety can tell you, I have continued reliving those interactions in my head as if a weird laugh or an awkward comment was the worst thing to happen to anyone ever, all the while those who I interacted with probably haven’t thought about that moment since it happened.
I have realized that being able to socialize and make small talk is like any other muscle in the body, and like all the other muscles in my body, I haven’t worked on my socializing muscle since the pandemic started. So as we make our way into the summer please bear with me while I get back into training.
In this issue, we look at Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminists, or TERFs as they are known. Who are they and what do they believe?
In Arts and Entertainment, we chat with legendary indie filmmaker Kevin Smith as he makes his way to Orlando and look at “The Edge Becomes the Center” exhibit at The Ringling in Sarasota.
In news, events from GayDayS, One Magical Weekend, Tidal Wave Party and Girls in Wonderland, all tied to June’s first weekend in Central Florida are officially cancelled, AIDS Walk Orlando goes virtual and St Pete Pride reimagines its June celebration.
