Everyone has been voicing their opinions on what the effects of the Coronavirus is having on our lives and how it will impact and change us, both as individuals and society as we go forward.
Each of us will be drawn to confront particular aspects of our lives that we have perhaps overlooked, that are not working, or which bring to light neglected and forgotten dreams. We may find ourselves having to be more community minded, or conversely, more inward looking.
We may have to become more inventive. Creativity may surface from nowhere, providing a nurturing and fulfilling antidote to fear and vulnerability. Old beliefs may fall away as we re-evaluate what is important to us.
I had such a realisation this morning as I was sitting outside my back door having a mug of hot chocolate between jobs.
I have a small courtyard area which leads to a three-tier stepped grass area rising to a shed at the top of the garden. Shrubs planted along both sides provide variety and seasonal interest and require very little maintenance. Although I have a small table in the courtyard I rarely sit there, it being more of a stand for a twice-yearly pot of some colourful flower or bowl of bulbs. Apart from a sorry looking parsley plant I have two terracotta pots which again are planted each spring and autumn with leftover seedlings or last year’s rather unspectacular geraniums. I don’t have much spare time to devote to this area – I also have an allotment where I grow both flowers and vegetables – but I do try and keep it free of clutter and looking as good as I can make it.
But now, three weeks into lockdown, it is looking remarkably different. Having to stay at home means that I have more projects on the go, more time to spend on them, and less pressure to tidy up. My bike, which lay neglected in the shed, has now been mended and leans against the bins which have been brought in from the alleyway. I have a second, larger table on which sit two green gardening troughs sown with lettuces, and lots of trays of seedlings. At night these go into a mini greenhouse that is on the back wall facing the sun, together with a variety of other pots and trays that have spilled out onto the ground. Three large pots with dahlia tubers that haven’t yet surfaced complete the plants, and I have bags of compost, watering cans and a trug scattered about in a random fashion. A director’s chair, positioned to catch the early morning rays, has an easel and half completed watercolour painting resting on its arms, drying in the sun.
In the past this chaotic scene would have caused anxiety, both in terms of what it would take to restore a sense of order, and the look of it, what others would think of it. And of me.
But today I see it in a totally new light. I see it as me inhabiting my life.
I have time to enjoy each process. I don’t have to get things finished, or put away. I can spend longer looking closely at ordinary, everyday items and find beauty and awe in them. I feel involved in a deeper, less superficial way and steps are no longer part of a larger plan but delightful in themselves. Inside I feel unrushed and unpressured, a feeling that I haven’t quite accepted yet as being OK.
This sense of inhabiting feels very appropriate to me at this time, mirroring my need to more fully inhabit my body. It’s about looking at what is here, the inner workings, each part having a vital role. I feel a greater sense of connection, a coming together, as if I am reclaiming parts that I had shut off and which are necessary for the whole to work cohesively.
I wonder what individual insights others are having in this surreal time we find ourselves in.
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