I’m writing this at the height of the Coronavirus epidemic, at a time when we don’t even know yet how many people have succumbed to this terrible virus because the numbers we’re being told only include hospital deaths. This is a time when politicians flail and flounder, desperately trying to cover their backs. This is a time of looking back, of questioning why we were so ill-prepared when we had two months of knowing this disease was heading our way. This is a time of looking back to a past where by comparison all was safe and taken for granted. This is a time where we in the UK think of our Brexit stress and laugh grimly, because really, it didn’t compare. We thought that was bad? Well, now we fear not just for our economy but for our very lives and the lives of those we love.
How have you been feeling during this time? I would guess that with every passing hour you feel something different. Anger, pain, anxiety, sorrow, terror and a weird kind of rebellious positivity can all pass through you in moments. What is particularly hard is the lack of control. We are forbidden to leave our homes unless under certain rules. We cannot do our jobs or run our businesses. We cannot earn and we wait for government bail-outs while fearing there will be a greater price to pay down the line, in that economic wilderness to come.
Horrendous, isn’t it? Yep. As I type this, I feel my heart race and my stomach clench with panic. The words are spilling out. Fear lies behind the chipper wartime-spirit we’re trying to show the world.
There’s another more subtle pressure at work here and I don’t know if you’ve felt it. The pressure to make good use of this, the strangest, most isolated of times. Because we are not all that isolated, in a way. We are still in touch via the ubiquitous Zoom rooms, social media, online news. It is coming at us from all angles, relentlessly, ceaselessly. And we hear messages about self-education, learning new skills, sorting out that pigsty of a house at last, cataloguing your library, getting bags of clothes ready for when the charity shops reopen, learning how to grow your own vegetables ….
People who are completely unused to designing the shape of their day without their work schedule programmed into it, flail around for a new structure. So many of us grew up with a work ethic that gave us identity and meaning because of what we do and how hard we work. I know that kind of conditioning affects me. I work, therefore I am.
And I do believe, strongly, in self-education and in stretching our own boundaries. One of the greatest benefits of the internet is the way it offers knowledge to all. I am part of that, as a student and a teacher (I will be shortly be redesigning some of my in-person workshops and putting them online).
But there comes a point, a still and quiet point like this, when you examine our notions of action and education. You realise we often define education in terms of its usefulness and that usefulness in terms of money and career. Progression. Progression to what?
Instead, look at it another way. If you want to take a programme or learn a skill, think about how much pleasure you will get from it. Think about how it opens up your mind and soul. How it enriches you, in other ways than the monetary ones.
Also, take time to stop. You’ve never had a better excuse. Just. Stop.
Open yourself to awareness of the gorgeousness of a spring that’s unfolding around us in what seems to me greater beauty than ever. Really look at it and listen to it and breathe it in. Clumps of cherry blossom and clouds of hawthorn. The bright green corrugated leaves of the hornbeam. Grape hyacinths and celandines. The rattle of magpies building their nests. The song of blackbird and robin. Skies clear of con-trails. The early bumblebees blundering past.
Read the books you’ve been meaning to, certainly, but don’t choose them because you ought to. Everyone is supposed to tackle Proust or War and Peace or something toweringly, titanically literary. You’re thinking now is the time to tackle heavy tomes, for your own good. No. Don’t do it. Pick the book you can sink into like a feather bed. Pick the book that throws a shawl around your shoulders. Pick the book that makes your heart dance with excitement. Pick the book that takes you back to the glee of childhood. Pick the book that takes you out of yourself, out of your worries, for a time …
Get back in touch with the privilege it is to have life, breath, and blood flowing in your veins. Take the next five or ten minutes after you read this and do … nothing. No lists, no pressure, no curiosity. Just be still.
Just be.
On my Facebook page over the past three weeks I’ve posted a daily poetry reading. I’ve selected the poems for their power to inspire or console. Head over here to listen to the latest!
I’d love to hear which books are distracting, entertaining or consoling you right now! Comment below this post with your recommendations
I have now run two free online writing retreats and these have gone so well I intend to run more. Sign up to my mailing list via the form below and you’ll be the first to hear when I arrange my next one!
UPDATE: I’ve created a self-study mini-course, Create your Home Writing Retreat: find out more here.
Photo (c) Lorna Fergusson
