Blogs

By Teri Rizvi

Afflicted with cabin fever about a month into the pandemic, I tapped out a note to my journalism friends from Ohio University, where decades ago we chased stories and dreams.

“If your Zoom dance card isn’t full, a few of us thought it might be fun to reconnect over drinks and the miles at 5 p.m. on Saturday,” I wrote.

Seconds later, Scott quipped, “Sounds great! I’ll pick up the check.”

“Can’t wait to see all your tiny smiling faces,” responded Dee Dee, signaling the beginning of regular Zoom dates, the rectangles multiplying as old friends join the periodic video calls.

I never thought it possible to be cloistered and connected, yet, to my surprise, my relationships today are more intentional and emotionally intimate than ever — and I haven’t stepped foot in a coffee shop to meet a friend in 10 months and counting.

Every night, shortly after 5 p.m., my social worker son calls from New York City to chat about his work counseling HIV-positive adults, the latest adventures with Link, his roommate’s deaf rescue dog — and that night’s vegan recipe. My phone, markedly quieter before the pandemic, now dings daily with text messages from my college roommates, my older son or friends from across town, on the other side of our rural road or on the opposite coast.

“Can’t sleep! So excited for a new beginning,” a neighbor interrupted my sleep with a 5:30 a.m. text on Inauguration Day.

“Hot Pockets recalled. That’s IT. That’s my bad-news tipping point. I’m out,” texted a close friend from LA in one of her hilarious messages.

And every few weeks, my j-school friends gather to check in on each other, analyze the day’s headlines and renew friendships that began over all-nighters pulled together producing a daily student newspaper in a small Appalachian college town. Scattered now from Manhattan to Seattle, these are some of the most fascinating people I know — curious, inquisitive, compassionate and unfailing in truth-telling. They are the storytellers who will chronicle the unfamiliar road we’re traversing for the pages of history.

Stories —as personal as a coronavirus diagnosis or as chilling as an insurrection at the Capitol and the quick impeachment of a U.S. president who encouraged the violence — bring us together like hummingbirds to nectar. But it’s friendship cultivated over 40 years that keeps us moored.

“We know each other the way children who grow up together know each other,” said Anne, a health reporter.

Still held largely captive in our homes, we talk about our lives in isolation and playfully tease each other. “None of those classes helped you, Larry, because you didn’t go to them,” Peggy, a contact tracer, told an AP reporter to laughter. “We’ve come full circle,” I told Theresa, a space reporter at Breaking Defense who was carded when she showed up early for “senior shopping” at her neighborhood grocery store.

During our college days writing and editing for The Post, we stood on the cusp of careers that would bring us into the lives of readers. These days we find ourselves peering into each other’s lives. After her son suddenly lost his job, a friend fought back tears and shared her worry about his future. As writers who respect facts, we’re dismayed by those in our own families who embrace unfounded conspiracy theories. Choking back disappointment, we cancel Christmas plans with relatives after a new surge in the virus.

During these socially distant times, we show up for each other — and show vulnerability. We’ve learned to be gentle with ourselves. Every video call now ends with two words, “Love you!”

Turning wistful as the conversation wound down one week, Larry quietly urged us to live life without hesitation. “The road behind us is longer than the road ahead. Embrace every moment. Find that moment of joy.”

As I clicked “leave meeting” on the laptop screen, I realize the pandemic will end eventually, but friendship may be the one immunity that lasts a lifetime.

— Teri Rizvi

Teri Rizvi is founder and director of the Erma Bombeck Writers' Workshop at the University of Dayton, where she serves as executive director of strategic communications.