Quietly, slowly shifting

It’s quiet. I am writing a lot but in my journal, so it is all landing in my drawer. I am practicing writing, reflecting and sending all my negative and sad thoughts into the abyss of my black desk. I do not want to share the anger, grief, sadness and helplessness with the public – even though like for everyone else they all come in waves.

Because I do not think it is justified for me to do so.

Here is the truth: so far, I have been lucky. I have a job, two even. I have a business “in the cloud” and well established remote working habits. Yes, I am slower (affected by the lockdown and collective grief), but I am healthier than in the last five years. I have a weekly therapy as a part of my ongoing training, supervision, mentors and now also Advisory Board for Voxel Hub. I certainly do not feel alone.

I have two weekly calls with friends – on Wednesdays and Saturdays, so this way I can keep in touch with them and check-in with myself too. I feel supported.

My family have adjusted fast. We thrive in kindness and safety of our home. We meet and go away to our rooms to work, then meet again. We go for walks, walk the dog, cycle now and again. Seemingly life is actually better for us. Not having to commute to work takes away the wide range of sensory experiences that I do love, but also something that tires me out a bit. So we reconnect with nature instead.

But there is also this dark cloud of deep sadness over our heads. So far the slogan was to “stay home” and we were slowly growing over the multitude of divides unified in the response to an illness. But our leaders are smart, too smart…so now we need to “stay alert” which implies divide again, distrust and war.

There is no need for that anymore. Nature is showing us the way, keeping us in homes and neighbourhoods. Cutting down on our flights and silly holidays. More and more of us get it: we do not need to visit all those tourist locations to find another emptiness in our hearts. The meaning is just down the road, over the fence, in our streets, on Thursday night when we meet – weather we clap for NHS, others or just to support our own hopefulness.

Like with the weather, I am shifting fronts too. Most days are good, some days are cloudy. All days are movement and change. Change is coming. It is unavoidable. And I welcome it – with a bit of anxiousness and with a lot of hope.

Photo via Unsplash here.