left behind
Have you heard of FOMO, ‘fear of missing out’?
Like many of us during the last two years there has been a general air of life on hold, paused, waiting for normal life to be resumed. My own life started to feel like that, nearly a year before the Pandemic, when my partner and step children unexpectedly left and I was left reeling, trying to grapple with a new reality. Zoom (no pun intended) forward to today and I’m reflecting on my progress.
I have made many strides, some tiny, some huge. Just when I start to sense some progress into rebuilding my new life, starting again in a new place, it seems some rug gets pulled from under me and I end up back at the beginning, a crumpled, defeated heap. An image of the Disney character Scrat, springs to mind, from the animation, Ice Age. Scrat is an acorn-obsessed, saber-toothed squirrel who constantly puts himself in danger with impossible tasks, always trying to hang on to a prized acorn. When he buries it for safe keeping (sensible) it starts a tiny crack in the ice that grows to split an entire iceberg, under his feet, one foot on each half, impossibly stretching him as he clings to the acorn. Later on, in a similar way, he is responsible for the separation of the continents by dividing Pangaea, forever changing our planet. You get the gist.
I have yet to permanently alter the globe with a single acorn, or end up in quite such precarious, cartoon situations but sometimes on lower moments it can feel that no matter how hard I try to mend, advance, prepare for my present and future, I am stymied, mid path. The latest was getting the dreaded virus that we have all spent so long trying to avoid. I had just made a good start on the last area of my world, that I consider needs improving. Ironically this was physical and mental health.
I was buoyed by the beginnings of success, impressed at my own discipline. This is normally so lacking, as I am more likely to break rules, even the ones I set, because NOBODY tells me what to do, not even me! For once I was actually obeying my own rules. The recipe towards a new healthy, happy me is simple. For improved mental and physical health; every day take one walk in the fresh air, talk to one real live human being, achieve one thing on my list, big or small. Avoid alcohol, get better sleep, read or write. Join things. Lower carbs, intermittent fasting, exercise once a day, work towards new summer exhibitions. Simple. One month in and I was really feeling the benefit, more energy, looser clothes, fitter, more positive. It was more YOLO* than FOMO! Then BAM! (not an acronym) Covid floored me. The last two weeks have felt like wading through treacle. I have become isolated yet again, unable to stick to my new rules, the very things that were keeping me afloat. The new reality? Dragging my sorry self to the kitchen for tea and toast, (carbs!) daily step count? 151. Number of humans met? Zero. Fresh air? Hacking cough noises can be heard from under a slightly sweaty duvet.
Like Scrat, (before the virus) I had almost reached the peak of a summit, looked around, smiled briefly, understood this was a better place to be, I can do this! When out of nowhere, a giant runaway snowball smacked into me, catapulting me straight back to the foot of the mountain, where I now lie, buried in a heap of snow, the acorn landing with further insult, just out of reach.
(Who are you calling a drama queen?)
This is just life, isn't it?
Whilst writing this I am trying to remember that this won’t last forever (please don’t let me have long covid) just before I got ill, the pilates instructor cancelled the last classes due to a broken leg, the writing class was now out of bounds, as is book group — these are the things I bravely joined. These were part of my coping strategy! (They contain other humans you can actually talk to! Woohoo!) The FOMO feeling is not helped by being held back at the starting line, no longer isolating by law but by lack of energy, as several close humans (without Covid) go out into the world. (Bloody show-offs.) A great friend has just left for Jordan on a charity trek, in honour of her late husband. (She has immeasurably helped me these last three years) Another has arrived in Sweden to see a tiny grandniece. Others are in Florida or coming back from Thailand, celebrating birthday weekends or parents’ anniveraries and Mother’s Day. (My solo covid birthday was kindly marked by many, with lots of dropped off gifts, flowers and food parcels. My Mother’s Day was on Facetime with my girls and for all of it, I’m really grateful.) Five members of my own family are right now, heading to the Balearics.
I must not PANIC! Life is not over, it’s just paused (again) I know how to do this. Scale it back; One small thing on the list, a tiny walk outside, call someone, sleep, keep the heid. Make plans for better days. So far this includes a summer writing retreat, booked in the Highlands, and in May an art workshop weekend, in rural Aberdeenshire. When I have more energy I plan to kit out my small van, so I can take off for wild camping trips over the summer.
The April snow this week, mirrored my feelings of one step forward, two back. In Scotland there we were, eulogising about wonderful spring, peeling off our winter woollies, taps aff! Then the artic air brought back frost and our thermals again. The lesson is there. So are the clichés: Stay fluid, expect hitches, keep the faith, one step at a time, don't give up.
I’m off to climb down 19 steps, via the difficult south face — destination sofa, to watch Ice Age.
Snow can melt, new life is still possible.
*YOLO. You only live once.
Be patient.
