My diary for March was filled with good things: visits from friends and relatives; meals out and any number of coffee dates. April too was keenly anticipated with a weekend away to Oxford and tickets to see some of my favourite authors at the literary festival. May was even better. We were going to the US to spend ten days in the Hamptons with my family. What a wonderful year! And then, on Tuesday 17 March, all plans were void, all visits cancelled.
Where once were appointments, were now cancellations. Because of potential problems resulting from my MS, I self-isolated early and absolutely. I noted 9 June in my diary, as that was the initial date when we could safely emerge into the world. It seemed a very long time away. And until I reached that date, I would flick through the pages and see what I was supposed to be doing. The exercise was unnerving. It created a sort of ghost life, one running parallel to this surreal existence bordered by my boundary lines.
Ghosts of the past
Now, five weeks on, I reflect on life before the virus with nostalgia, as if it was from another era entirely. How I loved those craft mornings with friends, trips to Birling Gap, weekly calligraphy and choir lessons! Intimate chats with companions now seem like a luxury. I miss all these things deeply and each time the days when I would normally engage in them come around, I am haunted by their absence.
Ghosts of the future
All those hopes for the future, all those dates in the diary which promised such happy times were now evaporating. The squiggles on the page, which represented such joyful expectation, now taunt me. When I reached the date where I had noted the need to renew my ESTA (American travel visa) and get my travel insurance, I wanted to cry. Daydreams of days spent on the beach, cuddles and stories with my granddaughter, outings with my son and daughter-in-law were just that: dreams. Yet, my visualisation of them felt so real. Now, it is like looking at a Polaroid print moving in reverse, the image gradually fading to white.
My hefty, page to a day diary remains on my desk (I do need to remind myself what day it is) yet the pages remain sulkily blank. Here’s June’s entries:
Like Scrooge’s ghost of the future, mine does not fill me with optimism. Like everyone, I wish I knew when this would end and, as the days and weeks pass, I realise that there is no answer to that and certainly not one that would cheer me. My mood dips and soars on a daily basis, the uncertainty of it all enervating.
Any time but now
Yet, in my wiser moments, I remember that life has always been like this. We spend endless thought, time and energy reflecting on the past and anticipating the future. Regret, nostalgia, optimism and fear are entirely human emotions, which colour our feelings and, in extreme cases, unbalance our mental health. While in the thrall of such emotions, they feel absolutely real, yet they exist outside of the actual and in the realm of thought only. Few of these emotions bring us contentment: our optimism is often misplaced just as our fears are often unrealised. Like the folkloric Will-o-the-Wisps, their intangible luminosity often leads us to bogs of despair.
Putting the ghosts to rest
Living in a constant state of uncertainty, and even fear, is the fate of most of us in this unprecedented era. Many will find it unbearable and their health will suffer. But, if this blog is about anything, it is about coping with new and often unnerving change with grace.
We need to lay the ghosts of the past and the future to rest and focus on the only thing that we can control-how we conduct ourselves at this very moment. The world will not be the same for years to come. And though we cannot alter this, we can play our own small part in making the future a positive one. If we can receive each moment with gratitude and act in the interest of others wherever possible (and simply staying at home is beneficial), we can incrementally build a world that is kinder and gentler. And I, for one, think it worth the effort.