In a pandemic, a conference becomes extraordinary

In the midst of this dark, pandemic winter, I was able to do something truly extraordinary: I attended a conference in person. We met for three days in Colorado and discussed the global economy and prospects for the markets. While that may not be everybody’s idea of a good time, I’m pretty sure it saved my soul.

I’d accepted an invitation to the off-the-record event last August, when the virus was in retreat. I’d been twice before and it had brought new people into my orbit and taught me something. But with Covid-19 cases rising as it approached, I assumed it would be cancelled or I would have to drop out.

Instead, the organiser doubled down on precautions. The number of attendees was halved to 20. A plane was chartered to avoid the risk of contracting Covid-19 in transit and we were all tested in advance and upon arrival. A hotel ballroom was used to allow social distancing, and everyone but the speaker had to wear a mask.

Pulling the event off safely took significant resources, but the message was refreshing: life doesn’t have to stop entirely because of the virus.

I would normally bristle at spending three days in a dimly lit hotel ballroom. But I was struck by how sharing a physical space contributed to a sense of community. The agenda lasted from dawn until late in the evening, leaving me worried about the constant socialisation after months of working in isolation at my kitchen table. But I hadn’t appreciated just what I’d been missing until I was dropped back into relative normality.

Before Covid-19, a conference of 20 people would have appeared small and intimate. Now it seemed huge, and I felt energised in a way I hadn’t in almost a year. The monotony of working at home was instantly replaced by the pure excitement of seeing familiar and new faces.

What really surprised me was how much I’d lacked intellectually without exposure to people who are not in my tribe. I always knew I missed my close friends and family, but I had underestimated how much I was missing people I wouldn’t necessarily encounter unless we were brought together.

Over the three days of the conference, my thinking was challenged more than it had been in six months. As usual at such gatherings, the best debates happened outside organised sessions and were spontaneous and unruly — something that does not happen over Zoom. The event is largely attended by Republicans and politics inevitably creeps into any talk of the economy and policy. This year, during a discussion on income inequality, one attendee suddenly said: “Hang on, would you call yourself a liberal?” Despite our political differences, our informal debate was the most illuminating of the conference.

How and where we work may forever be changed, and maybe there will be a permanent shift towards working from home. But spontaneity in conversations is gold dust in industries reliant on ideas, and that happens most seamlessly in person. Maybe it’s just because I’m an extrovert, but I do not think office life is gone forever.

I also realised that what we accept as “normal” has fundamentally changed. One evening after dinner, a singer performed old classics by Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby in a deep, soulful voice. As I sat and swayed to the music, I thought how wonderfully normal it felt. But I’d spent the evening pulling at the mask elastics around my ears, which hurt after wearing them for 13 hours. The sound of the performer’s voice filled the room, but we were sitting six feet apart from one another.

Our bar for “normal” may have moved lower, but that means the shift away from lockdowns may feel more liberating than we expect. The buzz from my conference has persisted for weeks, even as I toil back at my kitchen table. As vaccines are distributed and we emerge from isolation, these intermittent moments of “normalcy” will buoy us. So what if we remain spaced out and still wear masks for some time?

Despite all the valuable macroeconomic analysis and investment tips I heard at the conference, the most important lesson I gleaned was that real life will feel great, and sooner than we think.

The writer is a senior fellow at Harvard Kennedy School