I’ve not blogged for a few days. Part of me thinks there’s just nothing to write about in this monotonous world we all now live in.
I wanted to write about how normal the rain felt the other day. That was the first rain we’d seen since lockdown began, and the puddles and spattered windows, the shimmering roof slates and the dribbling gutters all felt weirdly comforting. I think I was feeling the joy of a different (but old, familiar) reason to stay indoors. Yes, protect the NHS, but also... I don’t want to get drenched.
As Week 5 morphs into Week 6 then, I think we’re all just a bit fed up with it all. Officially there are three more weeks - so say the government - and then maybe, just maybe, we’ll be phased back in, one age group at a time. In the meantime the endurance race for all of us continues.
And like an endurance race, some of us are straggling and some of us are trying to find the pace of it - the speed we need to stay at to keep happy and positive. Today, I think I’m a straggler, limping quietly at the back. I’ve felt quite low.
I also wanted to write about two specific fears I think I have, but this might not be the right moment. I’m not afraid of what might happen to me, not really; I am afraid though of irrelevance. I don’t know where that came from, but I do know I’m not alone: one quick scan through social media shows a torrent of that fear, rumbling and cascading through every timeline and newsfeed. We all have a lot to say, and even the other side of this season, a lot more will be written. But I’m opinioned out; I don’t want to hear it really.
So I feel like isolating myself from the flow. And you see the problem. The more we isolate, the more we need relevance to someone, at least someone, out there. But we’re all so splurgy; on transmit all the time.
Well hopefully not all of us. If you’re a straggler like me, who’s had enough of long zoom meetings and pontificating flakebook posts... if the news is depressing you every day and it feels as though the rude wind has blown through our humanity like an arctic blast through an empty house... well, you’re not alone.
We’ve got some way to go through the Red Sea, and Moses is two million steps ahead - but that doesn’t mean we can’t help each other through, at the back. Switch off the computer. Mute the telly. Phone someone you adore. Talk about something, talk about nothing. Put music on. Wash and change into clean clothes, whatever it takes to remind yourself how amazing you are, and how blessed the world is to have you. We can make it.
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