Truly, the coronavirus is a gift that keeps on giving.
First, it gave us the fear that we, or a vulnerable loved one, might contract a horrifically contagious disease and die a painful death in an overcrowded, underequipped hospital.
Then there was the stress of quarantine. Marriages have been strained, the bonds of familial love stretched to the breaking point. Even people who love each other were not meant to spend every hour of every day together, which is why God invented schools, workplaces, gyms, bookstores, coffee shops, poker games and those wine-and-paint places where you come home tipsy, toting a picture of a daisy in a vase.
There’s been the economic devastation: businesses shuttered, employees fired and laid off and furloughed. There’s been the politicization of a period where all Americans should be pulling together, and social media, which has force-fed us images of crowded beaches over and over, sparking new outrage with each viewing.
And now, on top of all this, here comes the social anxiety. Here come the quarantine bubbles.
A quarantine bubble is a group of individuals or families whose members have been safely quarantining and who can now start hanging out with other observant groups, so long as the families observe safety guidelines and agree to be exclusive.
That’s the next step some European countries are choosing as they start to ease their lockdowns. Last month, First Minister Nicola Sturgeon of Scotland said that some countries are looking at “slightly expanding what people would define as their household — encouraging people who live alone to maybe match up with somebody else who is on their own or a couple of other people to have almost kind of bubbles of people.”
In Belgium, the government is allowing quarantining citizens to invite up to four guests into their homes and to travel to their guests’ house. “Two sets of four people make a ‘corona bubble,’ who can visit each other’s homes. No one else is allowed into the domestic social circle,” The Guardian wrote, adding, with typical English understatement, “the concept, also being discussed by the British government, opens up the biggest social minefield of the coronavirus lockdown.” You don’t say.
Because what if no one picks you for their bubble? And how do you decide who belongs in yours? How do you issue an invitation, or reject one? What if your parents swear they’ve been following the rules and are dying to see their grandchildren, but you’re not ready to risk it because they’re Fox News viewers and who the hell knows what they think “observant” even means? What if you’re desperate to hang out with your bestie, but she’s already committed to a guy she met three weeks ago on a dating app and wants to get to know in person? And again: What if no one picks you?
It’s true that bubbling could provide an exit strategy for those friendships that have been running on fumes — the college buddy who won’t stop talking about microbrewing or needle felting, the former bridesmaid who’s gotten religion or a Peleton bike. Sorry not sorry, but because of the virus, I won’t be able to see you for a while. It’s not you, it’s Covid.
But the idea of bubbling could also ignite every simmering insecurity in your possession. If the very thought of being picked last or going completely, utterly unchosen is giving you flashbacks to junior high where Michelle Goldman said that you couldn’t sit at her table in the cafeteria because all the seats were taken when clearly all the seats were not taken, I am right there with you. And would like to remind you that you are a successful, accomplished, beloved adult and also how many novels has Michelle published?
I digress.
But then, once you’ve cleared that first hurdle and gotten yourself bubbled, what are the rules? Are you obligated to hang out every time your chosen four want to? How do you agree on what’s reasonable versus risky? And if your puzzle just isn’t clicking — if it turns out that you’re just not that into them or they’re just not that into you — how do you break up the bubble and start seeing other people?
To quote Clubber Lang in “Rocky 3,” “I predict pain.”
So I asked Irene S. Levine, psychologist, friendship expert and author of “Best Friends Forever: Surviving a Break-Up With Your Best Friend,” for advice.
Her first tip: Do a risk/benefit analysis. Before embarking on the bubble experiment, be sure that you really, really need to be seeing other people. Make a considered decision before inviting trouble, and possibly infection.
“Some people need to affiliate more than others,” Dr. Levine said.
If you get rejected, try not to take it personally — or at least, tell yourself that there might be other reasons, from pre-existing conditions to prior obligations, to explain why you didn’t get the bubble tap.
If you have to reject someone, don’t lie, don’t be coy, and don’t, for God’s sake, put pictures of the winning friends or relatives on social media until you’ve spoken to the unchosen ones, and maybe not even after. Bad enough you’re going to reject your own mother in favor of your mother-in-law. Don’t make Mom watch it play out on Facebook.
Once your bubble begins, as with any relationship, communication is key, Dr. Levine said: “You’ll want to develop a social contract with the other family. Agree on the rules. Discuss your attitude toward risks and the way you go about your lives. Figure out what to do if someone breaks the rules” — because as awkward as it might be to talk it through before things go sideways, it will be that much worse if you wait until that’s happened to figure out what to do.
Finally, understand that it’s temporary. Whether you’re the rejecter or the rejectee, there’s always the possibility that things can expand later, which should help to soothe you, or the rejected parties. “This isn’t forever,” Dr. Levine said.
Of course, the pandemic isn’t, either — it’s just starting to feel that way. And if nothing else, the bubble experiment could be useful in reshuffling your anxieties as the weeks melt into months. If you’ve run out of things to read, and watch, and bake, the prospect of a bubble can give you something new to look forward to — or obsessively worry about.
You’re welcome.
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