Time moves differently during a pandemic.

There was so much pressure, especially in the early months, to create, to do, to achieve: Use this time to learn a new language or write a novel or learn to bake bread from scratch.  

It weirded me out.  Why was surviving a once-in-a-lifetime pandemic and trying to keep our neighbors safe not enough?  In short, we were reaching for distraction.  It was understandable: we were isolated in the unknown, reaching for something to remind us of our humanity and of bright times ahead.  Anything to stop the doomscrolling and anxiety and despair.  But engaging in distractions divorced many from connection and empathy during a time where they were needed the most.

It was September 2020 by the time I realized that I needed human interaction.  Unlike many, I hadn’t engaged in the frenetic use of FaceTime and Zoom to socialize with friends and family.  Unlike many, my employment demands increased during the pandemic.  I was loathe to admit my burnout and loathe to admit that even this introvert was lonely. 

To be honest, I didn’t know what Zoom was until late March 2020.  Not that I’m technologically challenged, but I never previously had a need for that kind of digital connection.

Or at least, I hadn’t realized that I had a need for that kind of digital connection – where you can see each other, take in the little quirks of their eyebrows that are lost in translation over the phone or via text.

A friend invited me to audition for A Midsummer Night’s Dream and Hamlet with a local company.  It would be performed via Zoom.  I had not performed Shakespeare since my undergraduate days, and only then a few scenes for coursework.  I had never dabbled in film. Zoom theatre sounded like a bizarre, untenable mashup of theatre and film.

I won’t sugarcoat it – connecting via Zoom was hard.    Trying to assess as Guildenstern if Hamlet was putting on an act or going mad while staring not at him but at my bedframe was hard.  The loss of a communal experience with a live audience was hard. 

And while we were not mounting a full production, the minimalization of the technical side of theatre allowed for us to focus on the words, on the stories.  We slowed down.  Argued over meaning.  Studied the definition of words.  Explored the different connotations of scenes.  Enjoyed each other’s company.  Put some art out there into the world.  We stripped theatre down to essential elements: storytelling and relationship. 

I challenge the belief that Zoom theatre slams the door on connection and empathy – it opens the door to different kinds of connections.

Amid the unimaginable, I still found community and intimacy via theatre.  It just existed differently.

There is some debate as to which plays (if any) Shakespeare completed over the course of numerous plague-related closures.  But we do know that he stayed in London and continued to build community through story.

You don’t have to write King Lear or Macbeth.  You don’t have to leave a legacy.  But you do have to seek each other.  But you do have to help each other.  But you do have to help each other remember our shared humanity. 

Theatre does this in spades.