Arrested Activity

I hesitated over whether it was worth updating this blog for the time being. I, like most of the world, am under some form of house arrest in an effort to slow down the spread of the COVID-19 virus. It’s not as if much of the novel and unexpected can occur in these circumstances.

In many ways my routine is similar to what it was before the pandemic. I have been in between jobs. I continue to look for employment – albeit even more of a challenge in this climate- and work on personal development. The difference is I can't do the same extra-curricular activities to help shift perspective if and when I feel overwhelmed. When people ask how I am, I'd rather not respond. If pushed, I’ll say I’m taking a day at a time. It depends. Some days are better than others, I admit. I imagine most would agree.

The mismanagement of the crisis across the Channel and elsewhere only heightens my stress levels. On the phone, my mother recounts stories of individuals still flouting the relatively relaxed UK lockdown recommendations.

Hardly surprising given the mixed messages from the top. Mum is still obligated to go into the office, given the nature of her civil service department. She’s accosted by (sometimes overzealous) police one day, and told she needs to have an exemption form on her person. 

That’s been the reality in France now for weeks. Not having a printer, I carry my handwritten version of the required permission slip everywhere. Oddly enough, I’m yet to be stopped. I endeavour to make the most of the one hour of daily exercise allowed, under ever stricter rules of confinement. The weather has been mercifully fine. A source of comfort and ruefulness given that it can’t be enjoyed in the same way.

I look forward to the weekly shop, being a chance to get out into the elements. Mid-week mornings are sane and the foot traffic isn’t heavy-except in the lead up to Easter. I'm surprised by the relative serenity of one budget supermarket in town. Whilst in the dairy section, I hear a young woman cough. I lock eyes with a man nearby on his phone; a mutual look of dread. Then, in a flash, we burst out laughing. No words needed for the absurdity of this new reality.

The following week, it is less relaxed. When trying to return an item for which I’ve requested a refund, the previously civil cashier becomes terse. Seeing that I’ll have to walk past him, an elderly man belligerently asks me where I’m heading. I try to explain in gabbled French, caught off guard. I implore him to be kind in spite of the tense situation we all find ourselves in. He ignores me.

Going out now feels like a mixed blessing. I noted at first that the ambiance was distinctly more hostile if I stayed in my vicinity. Whilst lining up outside one supermarket a masked woman behind me, already at a safe distance, leans back with exaggerated wariness when I turn around. Her behaviour is especially bizarre given that I have not moved closer. More so since, standing behind me, it is for her to determine whether there's sufficient distance between us. Her behaviour is similarly irrational whilst inside the shop. It makes me irritable. I question her mental state.

It’s indicative of the sour mood enveloping society as the health crisis stretches into spring. Admittedly, it’s the older population who have been most uncharitable. Understandable, given their mortality rate is higher if infected, yet not entirely excusable.

It would be unfair however to claim it’s just the elderly who are more dog-eat-dog these days. In one supermarket, a beleaguered young shop assistant gives a customer a death look when she squeezes past him. She’s impatient but doesn’t seem unkind. She should have waited or asked to be excused. He should have been more conscious of his surroundings. 

I can’t blame those who are forced to keep civilisation going during the pandemic if they are not full of bonhomie. It can be a thankless job. I try to be more expressive of my gratitude to the medical staff, shop assistants, security guards and cleaners who are potentially putting theirs and their families health in jeopardy to run essential services. They would say they have no choice. Still, credit where it’s due. That’s why I endeavour never to miss the daily 8pm salute; pot and spoon or carnival whistle at the ready.

The lockdown has had an effect on other essentials. My local La Poste has closed like many others. A package that needs my signature is delivered the one morning in the week I am not available. I am redirected to a central post office. My heart sinks when I see the queue. Only very few customers are allowed in at a time. This new system seems illogical. Not only is it more inefficient, it requires more people to gather in the same space at the same time. Surely what we're trying to avoid.

Whilst lining up, I notice a homeless man join the queue, not wholly concerned about social distancing. I am ashamed of my own wary (over)reaction. I recognise that he is more likely to be exposed to the virus than most. At the same time, I do not wish to dehumanise him. 

After having waited for three quarters of an hour, the friendly cashier explains said package has been returned to the distribution office and might be delivered the following week. (I'm still waiting). Having missed my bus, which only comes once or twice an hour during lockdown, I have time to kill. I decide to call friend and fellow chorister, Michelle. She’s been checking in on me regularly.  Ever accommodating, she takes a pause from WFH to chat. 

It's a tough week. That weekend I learn the news that not only has Keir Starmer predictably won the British Labour Party leadership election (by a surprising margin), but the centre-right have made significant gains in regards to the overall party machine. I am quite distraught; still trying to make sense of it all. 

Add to that a few disappointing responses on the work front. I also receive a rejection email for a literary competition I entered for the third year in a row. I thought I'd be more philosophical about it this time. Obviously not. This comparative trifle triggers a meltdown. I’m surprised it’s taken this long. I’ve spent weeks trying not to dwell on all the demoralising things in my life and the outside world. For sanity’s sake, I don’t immerse myself in Coronavirus news; only catching up on headlines on average once or twice a day.

I’ve nevertheless felt another wave of melancholy mounting. After some delay, it comes crashing down with a vengeance. I’m an incoherent, blubbering mess. I cancel a Zoom call with a friend from my UK church. We’re good friends but not bosom buddies. It would be a bit much to howl down the phone. I’m not really in a talking mood either. For once.

Some days are better than others.

Now more than ever it’s the not-so-small mercies that count. Despite the mounting death toll, friends, family and acquaintances are safe and well. Some are even in recovery. I learn through a prayer meeting on Zoom, of a 92 year old grandparent who is on the mend after contracting COVID-19. Similarly, other testimonies of answered prayers pepper these daily meetings. Thank God. I marvel at the strength of Jeanne; a friend from my Strasbourg church community. She continues to post edifying content online, in spite of losing her grandmother to the wretched virus.

Living by myself comes with its challenges. On the other hand, there's no one around to get on my nerves. In some ways I feel more connected than ever. Faithful friends have been looking out for me from a distance.  I am able to partake in events spiritual (meditation, prayer groups), political (grassroots campaigns and knowledge sharing) and musical (Speakeasy's online DJ dance party) that geographical distance would have once precluded.  

I’m catching up with friends after months of radio silence. It’s a time to bury the hatchet. The olive branch has been extended both ways a number of times. Sadly, it's not always been accepted. More often than not, it has.

For every crushing disappointment in and around this crisis, there’s a scintilla of hope. As an arm against cynicism, despair and a way of keeping faith alive, it’s pretty much all we have now.

A Happy Resurrection Weekend to all.