Maggie Slepian

I am Chronically Online, so there is a steady photo stream of my aesthetically pleasing and fun life. Opening gear from PR firms! Horses! Movie sets! Media trips! Trails! Heisenberg! These pictures are representative of my activities, but they are also designed to make my life appear as seamlessly active and interesting as possible.

But outside of work (and not posted online), I’m mostly alone. This means I’ve gotten better at taking selfies and I listen to a lot of audiobooks, but my time in town / at home is quite solitary. Don’t forget that what you see online is carefully curated, and not the whole picture. I’m probably posting these pictures covered in Cheeto dust.

The things I used to do with friends (biking, hiking, camping, road trips, grocery trips, dinners, movie nights, errands, puzzles) I still do, but mostly on my own. 

So what happened to my social life?

We can start with the standard passage of time. Times change, people change. The cost of living in a fancy mountain town increases, and people are forced to move or get better-paying, time-sucking jobs. Others get married, schedules change, interests change.

All of this is normal life progression, and would happen no matter what any given time period looked like. But in this case, the pandemic caused an immense disruption to life and routine. For me—and many people I’ve talked to—this routine has yet to return.

In the years before the pandemic, my activities centered around remote work and wholesome, outdoorsy things with friends. Even remote work was social, as my friends also worked remotely. We’d swap houses and locations for work sessions, meeting up in a fluid, near-constant way that never felt forced or scheduled. We’d work for a few hours on our projects, then hit the climbing gym or sign up for a yoga class. Sometimes we’d grab food after. Nothing ever felt planned, but I was always surrounded by people. 

Occasionally we’d plan big events—a girl’s trip to Utah for climbing and mountain biking, or a ridiculously themed dinner party that everyone took too seriously. I shared a house with two close friends, and even without an in-person job or strict schedule, I always felt busy and engaged.

Then, as we know, spring 2020 happened. The climbing gym and yoga studios closed, the coffee shops shuttered. It wasn’t ok to meet up in each other’s houses anymore, but at least I had my two friends living with me. Then those friends moved, and without a schedule or remote coworkers, I was suddenly isolated. I had gone from near-constant companionship with a rotating cast of characters to spending most of my time alone. 

During this time, some friends got into relationships, others were forced to find full-time jobs when their contract work dried up. Others moved away. By the time the months went by and things began to reopen, our schedules and lives looked different. Behind the closed doors of pandemic isolation, things had changed, for me included.

I ended a relationship and simultaneously started working away from home for months at a time. This created a closed-feedback loop, where the more time I spent away from home, the less I was connected to people and events and routine, so the more bored and lonely I was in town. So I’d leave more. So I’d be less connected. You get the picture.

When I was in town, our routines of climbing and yoga and outdoor activities had been so disrupted that anything we tried to do required lots of planning, losing that effortless spontaneity. 

I see this sentiment echoed across social media, in person, with friends around the country, and with the people I work with. Our lives were upended in a lot of ways over the past several years, and for many of us, this involves a social life that hasn’t come back to, well, life.

I’m grateful I appreciated my pre-pandemic home life at the time, because I knew it wouldn’t last forever. I would have never predicted that it would end so abruptly though, as phases of life tend to fade out gradually instead of the guillotine of a global pandemic. 

I write this without any idea of a solution or what the future holds. I am fortunate in that I accept moving on from things, and I always allow the next phase of life to take shape. I have no doubt whatever comes next will be similar. 

So if you’re feeling isolated, or like things haven’t gotten back on track, you’re not alone. I’m fine taking this time to explore solo travel and activities, and trying to see people when I’m in town. For me, the best attitude is being open to new possibilities, and looking forward to opportunities that change presents me with, whether or not it happened on my terms. In the meantime, does anyone want to hang out?