The Chronicle Herald (Provincial)
Human connection more important than ever
I didn't know Shaun Clarke, the much-loved member of the Nova Scotia film community who died last week, that well.
But whenever I saw him, he greeted me like we had been friends for life, as, from the sounds of it, he greeted so many people while going about his days.
We occasionally emailed back and forth. Sometimes, since we bought a place not far from his home in Lunenburg County, he'd flip me pictures of goofy local stuff he thought I might find amusing.
Shaun often said to drop in. He told me to come by any time.
But I never did, because I have never been particularly good at keeping in touch, through a phone call or email, or just showing up at someone's door.
Now I've lost my chance. And that is a sad thing.
Because Shaun was one of those guys whose mere presence made your day, and whose loss diminishes our small corner of the world.
But also, because if there has ever been a time that demonstrates the importance of human connection it is now, when the obituary pages are long, and the future, despite the apparent flattening of the curve in this province, still seems fraught with uncertainty.
We all know we need other people. Study after study shows that the single thing most likely to ensure a person's happiness, as vague as that term is, is having others in their life.
During the headlong rush of our PRE-COVID-19 days we could tend to forget that. Now, in these socially distanced days, we have all the time in the world.
Even relatively uncommunicative sorts like me are starting to realize that.
In my defence I have always been ready to answer the call for an after work ale, and happy to jump-start the day with some chat over a strongly caffeinated beverage.
When a dinner invite came in, the hostess often had to turn off the dining room lights to force me from the table.
But three months into this, even with the companionship of my wife and family, I find myself reaching out to others in ways that I never did before.
There's no master plan. But there I am, ending emails and texts by asking people how they are faring because I know the times can be hard, particularly for anyone on their own.
I make regular phone calls, just to hear people's voices.
When there's a zoom meeting, whether for my karate or book club, or a Friday evening sociable, well my friends, I am absolutely there.
The motivation, if I'm honest, is selfish. I want to connect, to feel, I guess, that I'm fully rooted in the world, to believe, in these upside down times, that I'm part of something bigger.
I'm guessing others are feeling it too.
Last week, on my birthday, an old friend I hadn't talked to in years, sent me something special.
At some point he'd been digitizing some of his parents' old Super 8 home movies.
There, in all their grainy glory, was some 40-year-ago-footage of he and I sitting around in his backyard, and clips of our parents — friends as well — taken when they were in their early 20s.
We emailed back and forth a bit, catching up after the long hiatus, and asking each other how we were doing in these strange days.
He's a considerate guy, this old friend, and it was wonderful to hear from him.
Yet, maybe I've been too long in isolation, because I also wondered if it was telling that he chose this moment to reach out almost through time to do me this kindness.
Just as I wondered if it is simply coincidence that, on Sunday, a guy I used to play touch football and little league baseball with — a guy who once pummelled me during recess in one of those prearranged elementary school fights, then put an arm consolingly across my shoulders as we filed back into class at Sir Charles Tupper school — asked to become my Facebook friend.
The last time we spoke in person was four or five years ago. We hadn't been face-toface in so long that he didn't recognize me at first.
I messaged him right back. It was, after all, a Monday in the time of the plague, and I have to tell you it that it was a fine way to start the week.