Filed under: technology | Tags: meeting, Resting Bitch Face, Resting Smile Face, smiling, Zoom
The thing about Zoom for me is, I usually end up on the floor crying after the meeting is over. It’s either that or a migraine. I couldn’t tell you exactly why. There are a lot of reasons a human mind might respond negatively to this experience. Could be the cognitive load, the slight asynchrony, constraints on mobility or the many other documented reasons Zoom can be challenging. But all I know is, taking part in any Zoom, be it party, reading, rehearsal or meeting, will result in either sobbing on the floor or lying in the dark with ice on my head. It’s just what happens.
And yet, I realized in a Zoom the other night, to the outside observer, I look like I’m very happy to be there and seem to be an enthusiastic participant. I’m not trying to appear so, I promise you. I don’t know I’m doing it. I think I’m surely revealing my aversion to this activity but then the facilitator will call my name and ask me to speak. I think because I’m smiling.
If there’s anything I hate more than being on a Zoom, it is speaking on a Zoom so I think to myself that I must try not to smile in Zoom meetings any more. But I don’t know if it’s possible. Partly it’s just that I have Resting Smile Face. (This is the opposite of the famous Resting Bitch Face, something I can only dream of achieving.) It’s also that, in a social setting, I fall into a kind of automatic pattern that I might just call The Space Heater. The way I deal with most social situations is to turn up my inner heat. I just kick out warmth. (This is one of the reasons to invite me to your party. I will heat up a corner, for sure.) In person, this is tiring but also very stimulating and rewarding. I genuinely like meeting people and having friendly conversation. But in a Zoom, rather than feeling charming and sociable, I feel clumsy and ill at ease. I look comfortable and happy while I’m kicking out all the heat I have and yet below my friendly exterior, as evidenced by my post-Zoom response, I am clearly treading treacherous water. I don’t feel it while it’s happening. If I did, maybe I could stop it. I think I’m just trying to survive a situation that is extra challenging for my brain and one way that I survive is by turning up the charm or the smile or whatever and then once it’s all over, I find myself weeping on the carpet for no discernible reason.
This last Zoom I was on featured 126 other people, though maybe only half of them had their cameras on. (I had mine on only because, if it had been in person, it might be called a Networking event so I figured I should go the whole way, given that I was required to be there but then my wi-fi kicked me out of the meeting and so I switched off the camera, though I wouldn’t say my experience was any better without it.) The other people I could see didn’t necessarily look like they were having a good time but when they spoke or commented in the chat, they were very enthusiastic and their notes suggested they were enjoying themselves. Maybe all those RBFs were actually having a marvelous time while I LOOKED like I was having a marvelous time but was on my way to the pit of existential despair. Or maybe they were actually miserable and doing a great job convincing everyone they were having the time of their lives in the chat. There were a lot of good actors in the group, I know.
Before Zoom, I was not fully aware of how often I was smiling. It is so much my default, I do not consciously catch how ubiquitous it is. The director of a play I was in years ago had to coach me to stop smiling while playing the cranky villain character. His theory was that I was just so happy to be onstage, I couldn’t not smile. Which might be true. But also – it’s not just onstage, I guess. When I think I’m smiling, I’m actually just turning up the heat – the little smile is just my resting face, I guess.
This explains why the people with the clipboards and the vests are always coming at me saying, “You look friendly.” Because I do. (Doesn’t mean I’m going to stop for you, though.) The thing is – I guess I do look friendly and I suppose I actually AM friendly (unless you’re one of those clipboard people then I’m definitely not). But it doesn’t mean I want to talk on a Zoom, I guess is what the issue is. Do not mistake a resting smile face for a person who is dying to speak on a Zoom. I’d rather just skip ahead to the crying on the carpet portion of the evening. Thank you. And if (God forbid) I should ever be in a position to lead a Zoom, this is a lesson for me, too, to not assume a smile means an extra willingness to speak or participate. The smiler may just be a space heater.
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