Times Like These

One of the best lessons firmly consolidated during lock-down, for me anyway, is how happy you can be with less. Less stuff, less things to do, less of a crammed calendar. With food shopping just once a week, restaurants closed, holidays cancelled, social calendars cleared and nowhere to really go, besides work and a walk or two, life as we've known it, is on hold for many of us. With restrictions in place, we may be reflecting on how we best spend our time and money in times like these. Rather than risk a 'non-essential' trip outside, many are looking at what they have, making do, making it work, fixing things up, wasting less, making things last in a way they wouldn't have before. Turns out, joy and contentment may even be found in this weird place of pause.

I know it's changed my mindset a lot, for sure, I'm looking around my home and my little family and seeing only what I have and not what I lack, counting blessings for even the smallest of things. It's true what the say, the more you practise gratitude, the more life gives you to be grateful for.

I'm aware that seven weeks in lock-down is hardly comparable to years of wartime in the forties - especially with our supermarkets full, home comforts, couriered online shopping and connectivity through technology that our grandparents and great-grandparents could never in a million years have imagined. However, if we're trying to seek some sort of meaning here and find happiness in this confusing moment in time, then a positive outlook is surely the best thing we can have. A mindful and deliberate search for the stuff that's good and constant, real and steady, reliable and safe - is a good place to start.

Never have I been more thankful for the ones that really matter; the simple things; the small things; the big things and a smaller-than-before way of living. Family, friends, the health of us all, our safety, a roof over our heads, an income, a well-stocked fridge, a garden, a library of books, long country walks, clean air to breathe and technology to 'see' and chat to loved ones; a platform on which to work and learn and to keep us entertained with movies, music and more. Never before have I felt more abundant and wealthy in my life with the people I have in it. And I miss them. But to miss them is to love them and to love them is to look forward to the good times together that we know we'll have again.

Like most people, I miss the squeezy hugs; being up close to the people I love; sitting on a couch together, seeing the whites of their eyes and feeling their energy. I miss inviting people over for dinner and being in other folks' houses. I miss parties and catch ups with my favourite people. Although, it HAS only been seven weeks and we didn't actually have any parties in the diary, so how can I miss something that wasn't there to begin with...? Weird.

I miss the smell of my parents' house (a mix of my dad's aftershave & overalls, fresh flowers, cut grass and my mum's constant cooking.) I miss the huge cuddle from my mum when I walk in and how she pats me firmly on the back, mid-big-squeeze and says, 'Hello, Hen...' before leading me in to the kitchen to show me what she's been cooking. I miss my dad walking towards me with a glass of prosecco/wine and a huge smile before I've even got my shoes off and how his kisses and hugs come with a birrova moustache scratch and a smell of Aramis!

I miss my sister's prolonged hugs. They are everything. And how she sometimes leaves her arm around my neck while she starts talking to me about something. Usually something funny. I love the noisy hive of activity that is her home and my two littlest nephew and niece running over to the door, talking over each other at the same time. I miss their runny cuddles, the way the say, 'Auntie Emma' while tapping my arm and the gentle kisses they leave (if I'm lucky) on my cheek.

I miss stroking my oldest niece's hair when I give her a big squeeze, measuring her height to mine with my hand, making her laugh and watching her dance and play with her cousins. I miss my oldest nephew standing so tall and close to my nose and making me laugh while saying, 'Awrite Emmsy'. Hugs-a-plenty still at ten and always with something exciting to show us or tell us.

Are these all real memories? Or am I conjuring up some idealised notion of how we were pre-'rona? It's definitely rose-tinted, that's for sure, but it's all about the best bits and the good times. I'd like to think it's not that far away at all from the way we all were/are. I know for sure that when I see them for those hugs again, I won't want to let go.

I couldn't give a monkeys right now about holidays, clothes, restaurants, shopping centres, the next big thing, the latest this or that. Any of it. It's all frills. The only thing I miss is the physical contact. Being in the company of the people we love and who love us right back. It's all there is.

I hope when this period of great uncertainty is over and we have the choice whether to be pulled back into a numb world of stuff, overspending, competition, fear and the things that society insists are important... that we can somehow cling to this feeling of gratitude for what we have, safe in the knowledge that to feel full and loved and seen and complete and content, all we truly need is each other. Maybe do things a bit differently and at a slower speed. A shared bottle of prosecco and a wee road trip will go a long way too. Can.not.wait.