Reflect and Reset

So how long is it since lockdown wasn't a thing?  Feels like it's always been here - my routines and rhythms have shifted, in what appears seamless now, (although I know it wasn't at the time) in the blink of the proverbial eye.  A week ago I was railing against the restrictive pattern of my day and now that unsettled feeling has, well, settled somewhat.  I've created a new routine, that revolves around creating lots of meals, working from home some days and in work others; my yoga practice, some weights, a walk, quiet time of reflection and meditation, lots of cups of tea, lots of reading and writing - much like your day I suspect. 

Last night after 'the briefing' I took myself off to quietly prepare supper for us all.  I found comfort in the rhythmical chopping and slicing.  For about the second time in this whole process I was struggling to get my head around the enormity of all this - I mean I 'know' it's happening - we talk about it all the time; but it's a sort of knowing that doesn't allow for the 'feeling' of it happening; or the acknowledgement that this is, without doubt, a defining moment for us as individuals, families, nations, the planet.  That's quite a lot to take on.  This period of time will go down in history - a bit like the great plague;  it will be commented on, picked apart in lifetimes to come - maybe A-level students will be asked to write an essay 'Compare and contrast how different continents fought and won the global pandemic of 2019' (although one would hope that however we decide to put back together our society, exams of no relevance will be things of the past).  There's a lot of talk 'out there' about resetting - flipping, pivoting, replacing, swivel, spin - but what does that really mean to us?  For some it has meant re-thinking business and keeping the cash flow going - restaurants becoming takeaway joints; for others it has meant taking time for the dust to settle, putting on their own oxygen masks and pressing pause instead.  For many of us, still working as key workers, it's meant finding a new way to deliver these important if not critical services, whilst observing social distancing, acute awareness of hygiene and reassuring those we are dealing with on a daily basis that it's okay to feel overwhelmed some days, it's okay to worry about schooling, exams, ill relatives.  Life as we know it has changed.  Period.  That's a heck of a thing to absorb without some fallout and recalibration.

Healing benefits of nature

In my previous life, if I had something to process I would have gone for a walk - either the beach, a hill, a wood - but it would have involved nature and greenery.  I find I can think more clearly and I've always found that a walk not only calms the eye, but the internal turmoil too.  That's not really an option anymore - I can walk locally in the park - and there's a lovely lake there too, but 500 other people have also had the same idea.  We can't stop to admire the view, or watch the moorhen nest without a niggling feeling of guilt - move on, exercise not enjoyment.  I've also noticed whilst out on my daily, government-allowed walk, that people have stopped greeting each other.  When did this become a thing?  Usually on a walk, it's full of 'hello', 'morning' or 'afternoon' at the very least.  Not anymore - it seems we are now socially distant as well as socially distancing.  How sad.  Humans are meant for connection - yes, even us introverts need social connection.  When that is removed we are less of who we were meant to be, I truly believe that.  My other go-to, and probably my first instinct is to find water; if I'm in it, even better.  I swim to clear my head, to have the feeling of the water washing over me and metaphorically sluicing away my worries.  The rhythm of the swim becomes compelling and addictive; thought slows down so much, it feels as if I have fallen into the gap that lies between the thoughts - and what lies there?  Peace.  But the pools are closed and my beloved wild swims are also out of the question, so how am I meeting this challenge now that my usual routes for coping are temporarily halted?  If I can't go out, I go in.  Deeper inwards.  I've ramped up my usual meditation practice and start the day with it, come rain or shine.  It's a discipline like anything else, but I find if I do it first thing, it sets the tone for the rest of the day.  I spend some time in prayer and reflection, which also sets the tone and I read.  Lots and lots of reading.  Then I write - everyday - I do my morning pages without fail and then at some point in the day I write, just for the sheer pleasure of it.  We've all needed to dig deep over the last few weeks, and as this quarantine continues I suspect we will need to find connections where we can - zoom, Skype, facetime, Microsoft meetings, google meet - they're all booming - because we are resilient communicators and communication is a key part of our overall wellbeing.  I haven't made banana bread (my daughter did!), I haven't totally re-designed my house, landscaped my garden or spent hours making a home spa face-mask - and hats off to those that have had the energy to do this; please send me your homemade masks and banana bread because my motivation has been seriously lacking on this front.

Digging deep

Instead I've quietly tried to absorb and process, recalibrate and find a gentle rhythm to the day that works for me; to accommodate my fellow quarantinees (is this even a word!!)and their worries, to find new things to be grateful for and re-acquaint myself with old habits that served me well in difficult times. 

So here we are.  At least another three weeks.  Half-way through then, maybe.  We can do that.  Then what?  Who knows what comes then; I know that slowing down has been good for many of us; that habits and routines that were just part of the daily grind have come under the microscope, and maybe, just maybe, some of these things won't be wiggling their way back into our new daily routines, once C19 is back in it's little box where it belongs.  Maybe the whole 'live in the present' is where it's really at.  We don't know anymore what's going to happen - we can't plan holidays, or day trips, family gatherings, weddings or a simple trip to the pub with friends.  As a veteran planner I can't tell you how much this bothers me.  It's not that I don't appreciate the moment I'm in, I do.  It's more that in the planning, I also have anticipation - and that's joy in the bank, in the moment, during the waiting.  Even that's been denied.  I recently re-ordered an insert for my Agenda and as I pressed send (yes I know I'm four months late doing this - bad planning eh!!)I wondered why on earth I was bothering to get a diary for planning ahead, when this particular pleasure is currently being denied.  Then I realised - I was HOPEFUL.  Hopeful that this time will end, hopeful that soon I will be able to hug my family, hopeful that not too far in the distant future I will be able to make plans again, and feel the joy of anticipation once more.

This however I do know; we are resilient; we are full of love for each other when it matters most; we are kind and generous, thoughtful and appreciative; we are learning about ourselves and each other; most importantly, we are hopeful, for without hope, what's the point in anything at all?  Hope and love.  I'll leave you with that.

Sarah x

photo credit:Valeriy Andrushko/Tegan Mierle