Ponderings

Lockdown has given us all a lot to think about. And most of us have had more time to spend thinking – key workers notwithstanding. This “endless summer” has been both a blessing and indeed, a curse.

Routines are shot to pieces. The circadian rhythms of life have gone haywire, health services have been interrupted, dentists have been unreachable and holidays are up the spout: if we are lucky enough to be able to have one, it’ll probably be odd, and mess us up still further. May be best not to bother.

Earnings have dried up, appetites have been huge and I for one have spent a king’s ransom in Tesco. It’s been ridiculous!

Only the most mentally stalwart will have survived this strange time unscathed. For those with medical needs and vulnerable minds, this virus has been especially cruel. Cancer treatments put on hold, mental heath services pushed to the back of the list… During this unprecedented epoque, these things have been hard to come by, understandably, but I think what I have realised just now is that the Corona Virus is dangerous in more ways than one.

And then there’s Facebook etc… More so than ever, people have been glued to screens where we risk being bombarded with images of successful lockdown crafts, DIY projects, fantastic family bonding photographs and celebrity fitness fads. And not just celebrity ones, either. Everyone under the sun seems to have produced an exercise video, or a self-help tutorial, or a yoga lesson, or a clever song, or at least a TikTok. (I am guilty of that one, oh, and a Readathon. Oops.) It has been, in some respects, such a competitive experience: who’s coping? Who’s not? Talent and entertainment aside, it can be depressing.

So why did I feel compelled to jump on the bandwagon? Did my mum need a personalised birthday song, performed by the Four Little Seymours and filmed badly by me whilst holding up shite alternative lyrics scribbled in Sharpie? Was it imperative that I started to write a novel based upon one that I had read, along the lines of my favourite childhood TV series? Did I have to exercise so hard that I fell over and knackered up my knee? Was it essential to complete every single sodding bit of the children’s schoolwork even if it meant that I did some of it myself when no child was present, thereby teaching them nothing?

And then there are the things that I have not done, that I planned to do. Things that I told myself I’d never do again if I failed to make the most of this unusual situation – and this is a long list; daily sit-ups, fail. Complete a novel, fail. Paint pictures, fail. Lose weight, fail. Grow nails, fail. Be a better person, write letters, be patient with the Four Little Seymours – fail, fail, fail. My blog dropped off (!), my diary was merely sporadic. My house did not get hinched. Little Seymour still can’t spell.

You get the picture.

Lockdown was good, Lockdown was bad. It had magical moments, and very scary ones. And some really, really sad ones, too. Twenty Twenty has indeed been one hell of a year. And it’s not over yet. I must admit, I’m scared of what else it might throw at us.

Today, I have decided to stop trying to write lists of all the things I should be doing. I’ll resist washing up or sweeping the floor when people are visiting (I apologise if I have done this to you). I’ll attempt to do things slowly, with less stress and pressure, and only do those things that really need to be done, or that bring me (or someone else) joy. I will spend less time gazing at newsfeeds and look at the sky more, it’s nicer up there, and provides perspective. The universe is a very, very big place. So much so that there must be something beyond it. Heaven? Space? Nirvana? Whatever it is, it’s brill! No competition, no stress. No corona. Just peace.

Lovely peace.