In the interest of being authentic, I felt like telling everyone that I'm thoroughly 'zoomed-out'.
Funny - a couple of months ago that would probably have meant that you could see all of me, and probably my house and street too, like a sort of Google Earth camera lens; but I bet you know exactly what I mean by 'zoomed out' today.
It's exhausting in a different way to holding real-world meetings; there's a lot more effort required somehow, and yes, while you can switch your camera off, mute yourself, listen and go and make a cup of tea with your wireless headphones on, what you can't do - and you really can't - is flow with the social dynamics of the room. A zoom meeting is literally all the mechanics, and none of the atmosphere.
I know. I've gone on about this before. I can't help it.
The effort goes in to listening harder, being patient, trying to read an atmosphere that isn't there to read, while watching faces on a screen who are all trying to do the same thing.
Calculating the dynamics, even subconsciously, is draining - and after around 40 minutes I feel like I have absolutely had enough of that and want to figure out a way to leave without it looking rude or unprofessional. It's nothing personal; just that I'm zoomed-out, and likely to get an attitude about it. And I'd rather not.
Having said all of that (in the interests of authenticity), I do still think it's brilliant. Had the virus struck 10 years ago, we might not have been quite so collected or connected - a something, however hard to read, is a lot better than nothing, and I'm thankful for the something, even if it's so difficult to process the whole picture through the tiny windows we have online in our houses.
It'd be so nice to pinch the screen and see it all - all the subtle nuances of a room, the air and the atmosphere that are so helpful. But here we are. Brighter days must be ahead. Meanwhile, forgive me if I look a little distracted, but there's a high possibility that I might have already zoomed-out.
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