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| Image by MasterTux from Pixabay |
I've been very much living in the moment for the last 10 weeks of the Covid-19 pandemic lockdown. Like most people, I've taken it on the chin that lockdown was for the best, for me, for my family, our friends and society, and that this was the best available way to do my bit for 'flattening the curve'.
In that respect, no different from millions of others in the UK and across the world.
To be able to manage that, I've tried to stay positive and count my blessings. I have work I can do from home, we live in a lovely part of the world, which is not too busy, we have a small garden, our grown-up children are living their own lives elsewhere, are safe and either have work or are furloughed. My wife and I have both been working from home for a few years now and both have the space to be able to do that and have established a way of living and working around and with each other lovingly and effectively.
Throughout all this, I have tried to be conscious of just how lucky I am/we are, and that millions of others are dealing with very different and incredibly difficult living and work situations.
I've put my emotions on the back-burner. I've tried not to get too wrapped up in the pain of physical separation from family, from our friends, from my professional colleagues and wider network.
But recently, I have found myself emotionally triggered, by events and by people. I have been surprised at the depth and passion of the emotions which have arisen in me - principally anger and fear.
I have been fearful of contact with other people since lockdown started. The experience of unavoidable supermarket shopping and failure of some people to maintain physical distancing; even walking at the local seafront, trying to second guess where others were going to walk, having to constantly zig-zag or step aside, even to have to be looking over one's shoulder constantly, was stressful. So we stopped doing those things. It was necessary to maintain distance from others, but I was - and remain - uncharacteristically fearful of the proximity of others now. This is not normal. And I resent it as much as I need to do it.
Those with whom I interact in social media may be aware of my anger and disgust, about which I posted loudly, with the revealed behaviour of a government advisor, close to our Prime Minister, who unrepentantly broke the lockdown rules, and the craven apoligistia of the rest of the Cabinet. We have never been so disregarded, so taken for fools, and I have never felt less respected, less seen, or my opinions less considered than now. I wrote to our MP, who replied in a thoughtful and carefully considered reply. But he wasn't for demanding sackings or resignations, or making any gestures himself in that direction. So far, so normal, eh?
Up until a couple of weeks ago, the Government messaging was crystal clear. Since then, it's got progressively more muddled and confusing. It feels as though we are being rushed into an early and uninformed easing of restrictions (Why now, I wonder). If we're being led by the science, why are so many scientists warning that it's too soon?
Supposedly, we can travel, visit, interact with more people. Some schooling will re-start. But look at the parks, beaches, car parks and motorways already this weekend. Social distancing has already ceased to be a thing we do. R will rise again.
I can't be too angry about people wanting social contact, wanting to be out and about, wanting to be visit lovely places. I'd like to do that myself.
I've spent my anger elsewhere (see above). But I'm still scared.
And I know that sometimes, that makes Niall a very dull boy.
