I miss life. That's the phrase on everyone's lips, isn't it? We miss life. We miss trips out with friends, we miss concerts, bars, swimming pools and going on public transport without wearing masks. We miss conversations without mentioning the 'state of things' at the moment. We miss hugs. We miss looking forward to things.
I thrive on forward, exciting plans. I wish I were one of those people who took life day by day, and smelled the flowers, and counted clouds, and whatever happens, happens and all that - but I'm not. I need concrete plans in my calender. Theatre, holidays, parties, weddings - knowing there's that feeling of fun and freedom and living to come. It's been snatched away from me this year and suddenly, for maybe the first time in my life, I don't have that - no, I can't have that - anymore. My months are clear and I find myself staring into a future of nothingness.
Ok, that's a tad (or, you know, very) dramatic, but in some ways life feels dramatic. Both dramatic and super anti-climactic at the same time. It's been the longest, but quickest six months ever. The world shutdown in spring, we got shut in our houses, the days dragged and yet the months flew by and suddenly it's nearly autumn and I can feel my innate optimism getting whittled away, little by little. Chipped at through the months like a sculpture working on a piece of marble. Chip - all plays, gigs and holiday plans cancelled. Chip - can't see family or friends. Chip - only go out of your house as a necessity. Chip, chip, chip.
Hold onto hope, I vow to myself. I find myself up and down with mood. Not the ups and downs one might imagine, like a roller coaster. If it's a roller coaster, it's one of those ones for kids that's about 15 feet high with a speed of 5 miles per hour. No, the mood changes are small and almost imperceptible. One week I'll feel slightly flatter, a little more down than normal. Then the next week I'll be just a bit brighter and things won't seem so bad. It's not depression, or anxiety, or anything as big as that...it's just a slight numbness.
Life gets cyclical. I stress-bake and eat the profits and then worry about my weight and health. I run, then stop running, then start it up again, bewailing my lack of progress. I watch escapist tv, then I watch dystopia, because if we're living in one I might as well jump in feet first. I write and write and write and never quite finish anything. I read silly romance novels and re-read YA fantasy. I pray. I stop praying. I pray again.
Hold onto hope, I vow to myself. I glimpse beauty in the mundane. A fox sunning itself on the grass below my balcony. A blue bike with a basket. Photos of my nieces and nephew. A friendly courtyard cat. Pink fairy lights in my bedroom. Fluffy ducklings at the local park that soon grow into adults.
I look for the beauty and I let myself feel the sadness. I don't do sadness well, to quote a line from Spring Awakening. I like to be happy. Everyone does, of course, but some people are good with the other feelings. They're ok with the rage or the melancholy or the even the every day neutral. I just want to smile, like a human golden labrador. Although hopefully not as dumb.
There's bigger things in all of this, I see as I look at the lives of my friends around me. Wonderful things. Precious, intimate lockdown weddings. Engagements and new love. Multiple pregnancy announcements with the promise of new life to come. Even in the midst of sadness, and terror, and anger, and disappointment and boredom and frustration, there's still beautiful things.
Hold onto hope, I vow to myself. As things begin to slowly open up, I step out into the world. Tentatively at first, and then head on. I become a tourist in my own city, going to Westminster Abbey and the aquarium and afternoon tea. I take the Tube and wear my mask and keep my distance and wonder if I should feel afraid. I wonder what others think, whether they're judging me for even going out in the first place. There's so much judgement at the moment. I meet up with friends and it revives my soul.
I don't know what's going to happen. I don't know where I, or the world, will be in a month, Christmas, a year. But I promise to keep reminding myself of the wonder in the world. I promise to look up.
Hold onto hope. Vow to yourself, hold onto hope.
