HABITUAL COMFORT
As a die-hard creature of habit, I’ve been reflecting of late on my new skill of discarding ingrained routines of old and replacing them with a whole host of new, albeit sometimes distinctly odd ones.
Some daily, others more a weekly ritual, I recognise them all as the result of us edging closer to the one-year marker of the UK being swept up and thrown down into the thick of a global pandemic. What started out as bizarre, now feels normal. At least, I tell myself this as I catch myself doing something that, were we not in a pandemic, might draw quizzical looks from passers-by. Exhibit A – spraying the car door handle with disinfectant… context to follow.
Then there was the moment last summer whilst queuing up with H to pay for socks in Marks & Spencer. As the smell of hand sanitiser permeated the air, all the shoppers standing in a socially distanced line wearing masks and staff stood behind screens sporting visors. Having quietly observed the scene, H turned to me and said “Can you imagine if a year ago, someone had shown you this glimpse into the future? You wouldn’t have believed it would you?”
Alongside these deliberations are the repeat snap-backs to gratitude for the boat we find ourselves as we navigate this storm. Whilst I persist in blocking out the constant media bombardment for the sake of my mental health, my subconscious remains aware of how bad things are… and how bad they could be. At least once a day I hope that awareness, gratitude, empathy and caution will keep our boat afloat until the deluge begins to subside.
Once we found ourselves in this third lockdown, the subject of forming some necessary new habits arose too – some that might help us break the monotony of the winter days still ahead. For instance, for a teen, how do you differentiate between the five habitual short, dark weekdays spent at a laptop and a weekend that offers severely limited options for variety? When it comes to what most nearly-sixteen-year-old girls would rather be doing, our inventiveness is being put to the test. In H’s case, we’re learning that being led by her is generally a reliable path to success.
So far there have been Saturday spent nights scrolling through every digital photo and video clip we’ve ever captured. Having reminisced through a quarter of our life lived together so far, we marvelled at the staggering number of moments and days that had been long since forgotten. Tiny fragments in time that suddenly felt vaguely familiar again.
Netflix and Amazon Prime figures heavily in our downtime and finding box set series that we all enjoy is proving to be a reliable way of spending time together in the evening. Board games are also suggested but rarely make the cut. However, bonding over a McDreamy obsession via back-to-back Grey’s Anatomy episodes is proving to be a popular mother/daughter activity - especially when snacks are involved.
As soon as weekend weather permits (i.e. no rain) there’ll be winter BBQs around the fire pit with hot dogs and S’mores… and for Patrick (Start, not Dempsey) and I, a large glass of red to celebrate Dry January being over. Incidentally, it’s been H’s insistence of “I completed my 30 day no sugary snacks in November, so you WILL finish Dry January!” that’s been helping us limp towards the finish line. Having a teen live under your roof is a sure-fire way to ensure you complete any challenges you choose to set yourself – give up and you’ll never hear the last of it!
With weekends navigated, Monday mornings roll back around, still unwelcome as they always have been. For Patrick, that means lugging the crate that contains work paraphernalia back to the end of the dining table to set up his home office. For H, there’s the need to dig deep for the motivation that will finally see her through to the end of Year 11. An ending that as yet has no defined conclusion - other than the certainty that she’ll no longer sit the exams she’s worked towards the last ten years.
And then there’s me. I seem to have taken a lurking on the side-line role - cajoling, prodding, encouraging - trying hard and generally failing, to refrain from entering nagging territory. In between that and the various domestic distractions that crop up with alarming frequency, I attempt to write something. Anything. Apart from a few moments of 5:00am wakefulness, this generally hasn’t amounted to much so far in 2021.
In a fit of disdain for having huge swathes of my time swallowed up by the quick fix lure of Instagram, I’ve switched to distractions of a different kind. An online course, a subscription to The Atlantic, a chapter of a current book, a Patreon post or an email from one of the more nourishing sources that I’ve signed up to of late. I still find myself consuming more than creating but perhaps that’s what’s needed to get through the last months of this pandemic.
Other than that there are walks at the beach, fresh air and as many hours of winter sunlight as possible to make the most of. There’s the 7:30am Thursday morning trip to the supermarket and the subsequent pack away and sanitise operation. I’m probably among those that take sanitisation to a whole other level but this seems to be a successful coping mechanism so, go figure.
Of all the habits and routines that now exist in the house, it seems to be the dog who’s adapted the best. After begging for a morsel of everyone’s breakfast, she retires for a morning snooze in the living room with Patrick. Next is a stopover in H’s room as that’s the only bed she’s allowed on and finally, it’s into the spare room with me to sprawl across the sofa and soak up any late afternoon sun.
Old habits do die hard, but when life demands we live by a new set of rules, I’m continually surprised by how quickly new ones are formed. Most, I’ll be happy to see the back of when the time comes, whilst other have woven themselves into strange forms of habitual comfort.
In the meantime, I think I’ll be emulating the dog - when it comes to lockdown life, Biscuit is definitely winning.
