BY JO ST LEON
“I think [the earth is] sending us a message: ‘You are not necessary. The air, earth, water and sky without you are fine. When you come back, remember that you are my guests. Not my masters’.” — Anonymous
It’s been a while since I last wrote. Double glazing followed by painting has interfered. I now feel as though I live in a whole new house, which seems fitting for the slow return of life as I once knew it.
I have begun teaching one-on-one lessons in my studio. With social distancing, of course. I can’t believe how much I have enjoyed it! Who knew that I loved doing it so much? I guess taking something away is the surest way of making it appreciated. Hopefully, returning to the orchestra will be similarly joyous, but I suspect that won’t be for some time.
Even though it’s autumn, it feels like spring. New life is starting to stir all around. I feel a strange excitement as I contemplate the future. What will my day hold? My week? My month? This sense of adventure has been somewhat missing for the past nine weeks. I wonder if this is what it’s like to be a bear. Do they wake from hibernation with the same feeling of anticipation?
Just as lockdown began, I used an inheritance from my mother to buy a little log cabin down at Port Arthur. The purchase was completed several weeks ago, but so far I’ve not been allowed to go there. This has been a small frustration amongst so many. Going there is still not a possibility, but it’s coming closer. For the first time, I’m allowing myself to feel the excitement of owning my beautiful cabin, and to plan my first visit. I’m imagining that first walk along the beach and yoga on the deck. I’m imagining sitting out in the sun with my gin and tonic, writing a work of genius on my trusty little iPad.
Of course, I’m a lazy woman – and it will be winter – so most of these imaginings will remain where they are now: in my head. Except for the gin and tonic, perhaps. But it’s good to dream. Good to think what life could have been if I had been a different person.
As the world re-opens, I’m starting to feel this pandemic diary nearing its natural end. I began it to try to document the changes I noticed in both myself and my world as we lived through weeks of isolation. Looking back at my musings over the past nine weeks, I notice my increasing contentment. I have discovered how little I really need, so perhaps I will no longer be led by consumerism. I am quieter; kinder, perhaps. I think I may discover that I listen more and talk less – but I won’t know until I get back into society.
Most importantly, I am aware that I have hope where once I had despair. In a mere nine weeks, the earth has regenerated itself to a remarkable degree. Our skies are clearer, our wildlife are returning to their natural habitats, and our emissions are way down as we don’t drive, don’t fly, and pollute less as we go about our days.
Maybe – just maybe – we can walk into our future with less arrogance, less need to dominate. Maybe we can contemplate nature, and our earthly home, with the humility and reverence they deserve.
What does this story mean to you?
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Image Mart Moppel via Flickr CC-BY-SA 2.0.
