OK, I’m back down from the mountains because my gorgeous little cat has gone missing back home, so I need to go and find him. This is not what I had planned but there’s little point in saying that because life does NOT go as planned, that’s just not how it works.
On my way down from the hills, I wondered, how can I face going back to my… normal?... life? I don’t know that we can even call it that any more – 2020 has been so strange for us all, maybe normal is broken – but anyway, I mean work, laundry, caring for someone ill, inhabiting the scruffy little house that I can’t look after well enough because of all of the above, feeling like I don’t have enough time for my children… Trapped in a house caged by ugly suburban fences that represent… what? Fear? Greed? Weird existential urges to exist within a parochial boundary?
Lockdown, caring responsibilities, fences… all prisons.
Resisting the temptation to wail and panic, I figured, the way forward has to be to break free – part of this may mean a physical move, but more significantly it means a mental and emotional gear shift – not “I need to be this, that, the other, for everyone, even if it’s tough” but more “this is who I am, and this is what I’m doing” – a freeing of creativity, a slotting in of time to write (and, for the lockdown-body record, a LOT more time to run). Owning my own narrative from one day to the next, as much as we ever can in this life of curve balls, potholes and prizes.
Work and chores will come from a place of choice – I’ll honor the responsibilities I chose, and own them – but they’ll be selected carefully, and there’ll also be music, fiction, words, dance, and hopefully (when the time is right) travel. Time with the children will BE a priority, and I’ll be there, fully present, making choices. Owning my life, reaching out and grabbing as much of the tapestry as I can, savouring it all.
Life, even in lockdown, is not a cage.
There’s SO much more out there, just waiting for us to reach for it.