I’ve always enjoyed my friendships. I’m lucky to have a few really good, long-lasting ones, but pre-pandemic, I often felt burdened by social obligations and, if I’m being honest, too lazy to always want to make an effort.
On a regular old weeknight before the pandemic, if I had plans with a friend, I’d sometimes do a thing in which I’d give them the option to cancel or reschedule, you know, in case their schedule was feeling full, and then I’d be secretly disappointed when they assured me that they could, in fact, make it. If there were too many get-togethers on the calendar in a month, I’d bemoan that I didn’t have enough time to get done whatever it was I was always trying to get done. Like so many others, I found that it was rare to have days when I didn’t have something to attend or attend to, and I low-key resented it.
Of course, once I got to the restaurant, party, house, or bar, I’d usually be happy that I’d made it. These were my friends! I enjoyed their company. But I’m all about finding that healthy balance of social and alone time. Concerts and dinners out are great, but I also (really, really) like to cozily wind down at the end of the day by Netflixing and chilling at home, and I’m a big fan of getting a good night’s sleep.
When the pandemic first hit and so much of the world went into lockdown, it didn’t surprise me that I was able to pretty seamlessly and happily hunker down. Finally, a chance to catch up on all the books I’d been meaning to read and the movies on my ever-growing watch list. It also didn’t hurt that I was six months pregnant at the beginning of the pandemic, and my goodness, is there a ton to do to prepare for a new human! So, there was a lot to keep me busy, and I didn’t miss seeing friends in real life all that much. Zoom hangs, phone calls, and eventually, occasional warm outdoor get-togethers were enough. At least for a while.
As the summer drew near to a close, the thing everyone was talking about was: What in the world were we going to do when it got really cold out? I live in upstate New York, so that starts to happen as soon as late September. But I wasn’t too worried — Zoom would be fine, more alone time welcomed.
It wasn’t until good friends called one day in late December to ask if my partner and I wanted to hang out that I realized how desperate I’d suddenly become for the camaraderie of close pals. They were visiting the area and asked if we wanted to meet them an hour away on a “warm” weekday morning (read: sunny and 34 degrees) to go for a hike. Whereas I would normally waffle about whether this was a good idea — was it smart to take an infant hiking in the snow, did a long drive fit in with her schedule? — I found myself blurting out “Absolutely!” before I even had time to think.
We bundled up our infant daughter — and ourselves — and headed to see our friends. The trail was not surprisingly completely covered in snow, which was great for the kids in the group who were of sledding age, but for us, it was an uphill trek.
As I carried my daughter in a baby carrier up the steep, snowy hill, I worried her face would get too cold; that my decade-old snow boots would somehow fail me; that I might fall and slide all the way down the hill. Basically, that whatever could go wrong, might.
But in between the uncomfortableness and the worrying about how the elements would impact me, I got to catch up with my friends! I learned about what they were making for holiday dinners, the music they were working on, how school and their jobs were going. We spotted wildlife together, shared homemade trail mix, and laughed out loud when the kids came a little too close to sledding into the stream (real laughing out loud, not just typing about it in a text!). We took stock of the world and our futures and tried to make sense of it all together. In other words, we did what friends do. I realized then just how lucky I was to have pals to hike and contemplate with in the middle of winter during a pandemic.
We didn’t stay that long — it was cold, there were kids involved — but the two or so hours we were able to squeeze in were enough. Driving back home, I felt lighter and more hopeful than I had in a while. I wanted more.
After our snowy morning hike, I went out of my way to see friends, no matter the ridiculous circumstances. When my partner and I had to stop by a friend’s house to pick up a snow blower they were getting rid of (like I said, upstate New York!), I suggested we make a night of it. By which I mean that we went to their house around 5:30 pm one evening — it was already pitch black outside — and huddled in their driveway while we caught up on everything we’d missed since it was nice out. Without the sun or a walk to keep us toasty, it got chilly quickly and we only lasted about 45 minutes tops, but still, it was so worth it. Getting to see their facial expressions up close-ish and to laugh at the way their dog hopped around in snow was so much better than viewing them through a grainy, dim-lit screen.
Soon after that, we had friends over for a happy hour on our porch in the deep January cold, directly following a snowstorm. We packed on layers, covered ourselves in warm blankets and drank red wine. We popped popcorn for the occasion and toasted the new year. It felt festive and intentional, and somehow that hour-long hang sustained me socially for weeks.
I met other friends for dinner one night in a nearby restaurant’s outdoor barn, and we watched each other’s breath fill the cold air from six feet away as we ate, dressed in Aran wool sweaters and our own version of Bernie gloves. In a little over an hour, we brainstormed about our future career goals and traded podcast and book recommendations.
Doesn’t this feel amazing to be hanging out right now? one friend asked, and it did.
I couldn’t have imagined a year ago that I would be relishing sitting in an outdoor barn in the middle of January with no heat on a weeknight, but there I was. We all agreed it was the highlight of our month.
Since the start of the winter, I’ve hung out with friends at an outdoor fire pit, and met others at a heated outdoor beer garden. I’ve gone for a walk with a friend to talk through art projects and big life changes, the kind of talk that needs to take place in person, no matter how uncomfortable or cold it is outside.
It took a pandemic for me to see that I had taken my beloved friendships for granted before. Not realizing how lucky I was to have the kind of friends who would call me out on my shit and also make me laugh until I could hardly catch my breath.
Before the pandemic, seeing friends often felt like something I had to fit in, partially because the world we were living in then was so oversaturated and there was little breathing room. But now that I know what it’s like to go without real-life socializing for long stretches, I’m so appreciative of my pals that I’m willing to do whatever it takes to see them.
It’s starting to warm up again now, so it may be a minute before I have to stand in the freezing cold just to bump elbows again, but I’ll happily go to those lengths if I have to. Hanging out with my friends means that much.
Jesse Sposato is a journalist, essayist and editor living in the Catskills. Her writing has appeared in New York magazine’s Bedford + Bowery, InStyle, Refinery29, HuffPost, KQED Pop and The Rumpus, among many others. She is currently working on a grief memoir and a collection of essays about coming of age in the suburbs.
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