FAR AHEAD
I walk the village route that I feel I’ve walked a million times already this year, the dog trotting beside me, every now and then looking up for reassurance. Yes I’m still here… and yes, we’re going this way because I know it’s where the really good sniffs are. Today, on the first official day of lockdown 2.0 (because apparently that's what we’re calling it), I walk in crisp, cold air and glorious sunlight. Just as the first lockdown began on a similarly bright day, although warmer in temperature and one that necessitated a lot less on the layers front.
“How lucky we are with the weather!” was the stock line with which we would greet one another from the other side of the street. “At least the sun is shining.” There was a newness then to the concept of chatting with strangers - a comfort in the camaraderie that comes with being thrust into a situation unlike we’ve ever experienced before. Respectfully we granted each other space to pass and the social platitudes of “How are you today?” were laced with more meaning and care than we thought possible.
At 8:00am today, I fasten the dog’s lead, pull a wooly hat over my ears and leave the house, noting how once more the roads and skies are eerily quiet. Except this time there is no sleeping teen at home, reluctant to be woken for another day of online learning. This time she’s in school as normal. Normal. Never has a word been more overused in the space of ten months than this one. I grapple with how I feel about school continuing - mixed emotions is the lightest way I can find to describe the continual churning of thoughts.
There are robust measures in place in school to minimise the risk of the virus spreading, should it find its way in. Such sneaky, human-esque behaviours are easily attributed to this virus, for in my head, it seems to have taken on a menacing life form of its own. I find it odd that we end up granting personality traits to things that we fear and loathe so much. My preference would be to dismiss it clean from my mind under the category of Bad. Bad is not deserving of any valuable headspace I may have left to spare.
But school. I fully acknowledge the reasons why she needs to continue being there right now. Long before we found ourselves smack bang in the middle of it, the importance of Year 11 was always etched into my thoughts… without adding in the parameters of a global pandemic. But my protective instincts, of both her and us as a family unit, scream at me like a deranged banshee every time she puts on her coat and leaves to catch the school bus. Like many parents, I would rather my offspring was at home in the midst of a lockdown. I pause to remind myself of the mental health aspects in all this - the first lockdown was hard on teens and children in ways that, as adults with wider breadths of life experience, we can only guess at. At least this way she still has routine and structure, socialisation opportunities with friends and the odd flash of inspiration provided by a couple of favoured teachers. In amongst, of course, that general teen mindset of “Urgh… school… just why??”
These and a million other thoughts fill my head as I walk past sleepy cottages, foliage laced with the first frost and misty sunbeams peeking through trees, illuminating thatched rooftops. The greenery on the wisteria attached to my favourite cottage is turning a mustardy yellow and I note that it feels like a matter of days ago when I was regularly cheered by its nodding lilac blooms. The smell of woodsmoke hangs in the air and a multitude of crows perched overhead begin cawing conversationally with each other. I wonder if they are mildly disturbed by the appearance of the lady who walks with erratic steps in order to crunch as many acorns underfoot as possible and a lolloping Labrador intent on sniffing every individual blade of grass.
I remember that today, exercise outside the house comes with an allocated time slot and ponder whether walking the dog counts. Whenever I come to a narrow pathway I check for walkers approaching from the opposite direction. If it's clear, we scurry through to the other end - which results in a displeased look from the dog. Scurrying is not conducive with lingering, leaf sniffing opportunities. If there’s traffic coming the other way, we wait at the path entrance. Sometimes engaging in a quick exchange of pleasantries from a distance as the dog pulls desperately on the lead to move in for a greeting and pat from a stranger. I very much doubt that she grasps the concept of strangers or social distancing. Everyone in the village is someone to befriend and all should be greeted with a level of enthusiasm usually reserved for the occasion of being reunited with a long-absent loved one. Reminding me yet again that the world would definitely benefit from being more dog.
We walk on and I wonder how long it will take me to break the habit of the pre pathway pause in a post pandemic world. I’ll let you know when we get there. Today I extend our morning walk route because the seasonal weather gods have conjured something too beautiful to pass over. With winter fast approaching (do we count November as winter or only when in lockdown?) it would feel like madness not to soak up every ray of sunlight - every degree of warmth that penetrates the cold and bathes the faces that turn eagerly toward it.
We end up on a gravel path between the fields and I realise somewhat crossly, that I would be in the fields were it not for the fact that I didn’t think to put on my yomping boots this morning. The frost on the rusty ferns and the low mist rolling over the long grass reminds me of a morning in January earlier this year. I stop for a moment and remember it. The same cold crispness, the same magical beauty of a season showing you its best side, the dog trying to eat the same grass tufts that sprout from the hedgerow.
And yet everything has changed - forever different in ways no one could have ever predicted. The concerns and worries that perpetuated everyday life on a cold, Dorset January day have since paled into insignificance. Now life is busy teaching me a whole other set of values - a criteria brought into such sharp focus that I feel like I’m regularly prodded with the spiky end of it. “Hey you - today is important. The present is what you have right now so you’d better pay close attention. Tomorrow will get here when it’s good and ready but right now, keep your eyes and mind on me.”
In some kind of appeasement, I offer up a secret declaration on an almost daily basis. The one that states I’m here, ready to learn, open to listening and up for working hard to master the art of acceptance like never before. It sometimes feels like a moment of bargaining - get us through to the other side and we’ll do better. Take better care of the planet, be kinder to each other and to ourselves. Think before we consume the physical and virtual, appreciate the simple moments and look more closely without the veil of judgement.
This leads me to wonder, if we focus on the small changes that we can affect instead of giving over valuable attention to things in the world that seem hopeless and out of our grasp, does that seem like a more nourishing and productive option? It does to me.
I glance down at the dog who is still for a moment and seems to have given up trying to acquire another plant based snack. She puts her head on one side and looks at me with what I could swear is a quizzical expression. I like to think she remembers that January morning too and on pondering my bargaining concept, is now in agreement with my karmic theory. The reality of course is set in her wondering why we’ve suddenly stopped our walk, why am I gazing into the distance and when will it be time to go home for a snooze, please and thank you.
We turn and head homeward and I allow myself the pleasure of looking forward to the first coffee of the morning. The one I drink as my ears and nose thaw out, amid a feeling of positivity that accompanies the beginning of a fresh day, as yet untouched by the influence of the outside world. For now, that feels as far ahead as I’d like to be.
