It’s mid-June, 2020 —week 11 of lockdown here in Scotland— and there’s just a promise of lifted restrictions on the early summer breeze.

Whilst everyone’s experience of lockdown has been unique; fraught with its own risks and containments, challenges and opportunities, one way or another we’ve all learned a lot.

As I ready myself to emerge, blinking, from my bunker, it feels apt to pick through what I’m hoping to carry with me into my own ‘new normal’.

So far, at least, I’m lucky not to bear either of the burdens that will scar so many. Although one or two have experienced the virus, all my immediate family, friends, neighbours and colleagues are alive and well. This is the first thing I am now reminded to be grateful for.

But that’s not to deny things have been hard in smaller ways.

In the first week I lost all my income-generating work, and all of my volunteering.

No matter. I had some financial reserves, and quickly shifted my focus to finishing the dissertation (ironically on the subject of ‘time’) that was due in a fortnight. By then, we were all sure, this would be over. How convenient, what a gift.

By the dissertation deadline, it was clear lockdown was going to last much longer. And now that I’d completed all my coursework, there was nothing left for me to do. I still had no paid work coming in, no volunteering and, as the days went by and the scale of the situation became clearer, future projects and commitments disappeared, rinsing my diary well into the winter and beyond, to 2021.

There was an overwhelming sense of loss— at once intangible and yet all too tangible. I had lost my liberty, and my income, and I had also lost my space. The ‘room of my own’, which gave me more joy than I knew, was now occupied by my adult son and his partner who had locked down with us. My books, materials, projects, notes and records were now scattered through the corners and cupboards of the flat.

Along with my liberty, income and space went my purpose, my direction, my worth. I was bereft and felt numb.

Of course, I need to check my privilege here: I was not ill; no one I knew was ill; I had a home; that home had sufficient space to accommodate the basic needs of four adults; I even had access to the outdoors; I had family; I had three of my closest family around me; and my partner’s income was assured, for the time being.

For a while, this litany was enough to sustain me as I energetically rewrote my daily script. My state-sanctioned hour’s run in the local park was supplemented by frequent ‘Yoga with Adriene’ sessions. But in between these markers I was falling deeper and deeper into a kind of catalytic state. By the fourth week, I had disappeared into hibernation. I spent hours in bed, consuming uncommon quantities of sugary, carb-laden, fatty snacks.

It seems this experience was not unusual. And, apart from the distressing 10lb of ‘Coronaspeck’, was not, in hindsight, all bad. In letting go of almost everything, I gained perspective on what was lost and what was left. Something about that dip was quite earthing.

I realized much of my usual energy was, in fact, fizz— the sparking of anxiety. The absence of many of the usual environmental stimulants simply highlighted how much they frazzle me. I began to draw up a table:

(-) (+)

polluted air clean air

the growl of traffic birdsong

late night revelers silence

constant threat of injury empty roads

being bombarded by marketing messages limited opportunity to consume

ever increasing velocity slow, steady pace

the judgment of others limited social contact

the noise of others fewer neighbours

multiple newsfeeds single headline

travel as consumption closely observing one location

ambition reflection

change rest

I started to relax into new relationships with the humans and animals around me. As I began to turn a corner, I set about finishing off all sorts of small projects – darning every needy sock, embroidering that jacket, recovering that quilt, finishing that knit, some creative writing. I still couldn’t take on anything too big, too concentrated, but I was making progress. And, of course, the rest of the world was adapting too.

In dribs and drabs, some paid work has slowly begun to return. I signed up for a webinar series exploring future options for my profession, and emerged with a new peer support network. Then, having learned to navigate at least seven new work-based online platforms, I also began exploring the leisure potential of the internet as never before.

Yes I watched all six series of Schitt’s Creek on Netflix, but I was also guided to perspective-altering readings on gender, attended sessions of the Cambridge University Students Union, took Japanese drapery classes with a Berlin fashion designer, joined a ‘Me and White Supremacy’ book circle, learned about No Dig horticulture by the guru himself, joined the writing team of an online magazine, even attended a webinar on wall maintenance given by a neighbour, and— most fabulously— went to a disco in the Sri Lankan jungle where, amongst folks from all over the globe, I boogied with my friend from Japan; 2am for her, 4pm for me.

This is surely how Tim Berners Lee intended his new tool to be used.

I can’t pretend all is perfect. I’m still carrying an extra 7lbs and can’t remember the last time I didn’t pour myself a ‘cheeky’ alcoholic evening drink. To be honest, this constitutes the physically unhealthiest I’ve been for many decades. But I do feel that some mental or spiritual purging has taken place— some Marie Kondo of the mind —and I’m in no rush to fill these newly opened spaces.

From all of these shards and fragments of experience, I’m beginning to piece together my ‘new normal’, and it’s a much broader portfolio than it used to be.

Ironically whilst living under restriction, we have all simultaneously experienced a period of great political and social upheaval. These two phenomena are interlinked in all sorts of complex ways, but have manifested in both huge shifts in social order, and small regenerations of community. We seem to be re-learning that we need to look after each other.

Like most people, I have found greater connection with neighbours, local independent shopkeepers, my postie, and many others. I’m hoping, once lockdown is released, we won’t abandon our new communities.

I’m hoping not all the innovation will be online, but I’m no longer minding that much of it will be. I’m crossing my fingers I’m one of many who now clearly see that our consumption and our habits were causing harm to our own wellbeing, as well as to the health of the planet.

Life SHOULD be quieter, calmer, slower, smaller. We have the privilege of being one keyboard stroke away from all of everything. If we can stay grounded, and balance the real and the virtual, we can effect a lot of good.

As we head towards deeper economic and, inevitably, social disruption, I’m resolving to take re-entry as steadily as I can, and to try to hold on to the best of lockdown’s insights.

Let’s look after each other, and our earth.