At my age, you don’t expect to have to learn life skills all over again, but since the restrictions have been eased in this country, it’s exactly what I have had to do. It’s as if all my knowledge has atrophied like muscles from lack of use. Fourteen months of self-isolation, with only my husband and the dog for company, is a long time. Re-emerging into the world was bound to be a little tricky. However, the interesting thing is that everyone I speak to (and yes, I get to do that again) seems to be feeling the same way, even though their last year has been less confined.
Getting together/Keeping your distance
The first, and trickiest thing has been deciding how close our social interactions should be. Do we keep 2 metres apart? Do we keep our masks on? Do we allow a touch or a hug? For the last year or so, all social interaction has been dominated by the niggling fear that your good friend may well be the vector of your demise. Viral infection is worse than living under the Stasi – an ill-placed sneeze or touch could land you in the hospital, or worse, the morgue.
Though all my friends have now had both vaccinations and cases in my hometown are, of yesterday, down to zero, the edge of anxiety remains. Were we all to stay here and not have any visitors, we’d be fine. But the restrictions were barely lifted before folks were off to see relatives and vice versa. Even though the majority of the population have had at least one vaccination, that still leaves a large number with none.
And I live in a resort. Most British people will be holidaying at home this year, which means my normally rather restrained seaside town will be bursting with tourists as soon as the summer proper begins. Of course, I can hardly blame them wanting a trip to the beach and a change of view, but it throws another level of anxiety into the mix.
Letting our guard down
When seeing friends, we have met quite normally without masks or especially distanced. I’ve even had the first people in my house. It’s been an exciting week. But it is also exhausting. On Saturday, I think I slept for about 15 hours – recovering from all the birthday visitors the week before. And to be honest, it’s not just the flurry of guests that has left me drained. I’m not quite sure how to be with people. I’m not sure others feel much better either. We are all terribly polite, or very prickly or even both. No one wants to offend, but no one wants to stifle their opinions either. Sometimes, I just want to retreat to the shed and hide. Lock-down all seemed so much easier.
As a friend said, then, we all knew what to do. Now we are like the unfortunate astronaut on a space walk whose tether has been cut. However, shed fantasies aside, we are equally desperate to see each other and catch up. My empty diary is now full and that too is adding to my sense of disquiet. Gone are the days of moseying down to breakfast, pootling about the garden and having dinner when hunger pangs made themselves known. Now I have to schedule my days, dress nicely, and plan.
I also have to drive. The peaceful, empty roads of lock-down are no more. Instead, they filled with a torrent of traffic, ambling pedestrians, parked cars and the inevitable road works. The briefest journey is an obstacle course that stretches my levels of concentration to the limit.
Finding our balance
Since we have who no idea how long it will be before we return to anything like normal, we shall have to find a way to balance our old lives with our new. I confess that my enthusiasm to catch up with everybody and do everything that I have been missing over the last months was perhaps ill-advised, but we all have to learn somehow.
What has helped me with the transition has been maintaining the schedule of yoga, meditation and breathing that I began seriously a year ago. It means getting up earlier than I would like and getting downstairs later, but without it, I’m not sure that I would have been able to cope at all.
While everything is still in flux, maintaining our rituals, whatever they are, becomes even more important. We cannot balance on thin air.
What the future holds
The future, by definition, is unknowable, but we can aim to make it a good one. For me that means doing all I can to keep safe (thus avoiding cluttering up the hospital) and being mindful of the well-being of others also.
With all restrictions due to be abolished in the next few weeks, we will have to ‘self police’ when it comes to living as fully as we can and as securely as we can. It was indeed easier when we were told exactly what we could and could not do. Now we have to negotiate that tricky social territory of those who are in the nonchalant, ‘It’s all over’ camp and the ‘Will my vaccine actually protect me?’ one.
My health complications have not miraculously disappeared, so I shall have to tread very carefully as the weeks unfold. Like everyone, I want to move forward with confidence and pleasure in all those social interactions that we took for granted in the past. But, I shall have to have the courage to say when I do not feel comfortable. And I plan, as far as possible, to meet up outdoors. I shall have to learn not to apologise when I have to put my needs first nor to be coerced by more confident (and healthy) friends. I shall have to listen, too, to those who are more anxious about the future and respect whatever decisions they make – no matter how timid or unfounded their fears may seem.
If we do this right, where we go from here should be a wonderful place. Imagine a world where people listen to one another; respect each other and act with the interest of everyone’s well-being at heart. It may be a dream, but I for one think it is one worth pursuing.