My husband, David, and I went on a walk today.
We drove there, walked for 1.5 hours, had a pub drink, then drove home.
The sun was shining, and we chatted about work, what to have for dinner that week, and our ideal house, amongst other things.
Sounds like a normal Sunday morning, doesn’t it?
Except this is in week 9 of lockdown in the UK, because of THE virus.
We’re allowed to drive a short distance for exercise, now, and pubs and restaurants are allowed to sell take away drinks and food, all while adhering to social distancing and general common sense.
It’s the first time I’ve been out of the village, and in a car, for 9 weeks.
(Actually, that’s not quite true – I had to have an emergency optician’s appointment last week to repair my glasses, which I bent after landing on them after an unsuccessful yoga move – it sounds like a farce – and because of that, I don’t count it as an outing!)
Back to our morning out: Driving to the village we started our walk from – it could have been any ‘normal’ weekend day. There were cars on the road, signs of A14 roadworks and cyclists and dog walkers on the pavements beside the road.
However, we couldn’t go for a bacon sandwich, which we would normally do before a walk – or tea and cake afterwards, which we’d normally do after a walk (there’s a reoccurring food theme, I know). Anglesey Abbey, our favourite local National Trust property was very visibly closed as we drove past.
David 'reaching' towards the signpost back to the village 'Reach'
It’s funny how something that should be so momentous – being let out! - actually felt on the verge of normal. My mind slipped straight back into the ‘old normal’. It was like shrugging on an old, comfortable dressing gown or pair of shoes. Despite not having been out for 9 weeks, it felt like a ‘normal’ day, and my brain couldn’t compute that it wasn’t. It made me feel that the dressing gown, which on one hand felt warm and comfy, was actually someone else’s, and not mine.
It’s the first time in the whole 9 weeks that I’ve been frustrated that I can’t do something I would normally do. That is – frustrated in a supressed way – frustrated but knowing that you shouldn’t be frustrated, because you understand the reasons why. It made me uncomfortable.
This is how millions of people across the globe must be feeling at the very same moment. It’s also likely to be a significant reason for the world’s increasing mental health challenges (although certainly not the only one). It’s easy to suppress how you actually feel because you feel you should. I believe strongly that you should let yourself feel your feelings – tell yourself it’s ok to feel how you’re feeling. Acknowledgement is the first step to recovery.
However, being on that walk, in the sunshine, surrounded by trees and fields and forest and nature – I felt recharged. My husband tells me that it’s like I’m plugged into an electricity socket, when I’m out in nature, and I visibly recharge. I feel quite strongly that humans have a fundamental and primal need to be with nature (but that’s for another time/blog).
We walked, took photos, chatted and laughed. At one point, a path divurged, and we took a different path each. It turned out that David’s was the ‘correct’ path, but mine (he later joined me) took us underneath a bridge that gave us an opportunity to pause, listening to the echoes of our footsteps (and subsequent hello..llo..lo..os). It reminded me of the Robert Frost poem, The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I - I took the one less travelled by, And that has made all the difference.
We said good morning to the few people that we passed, as we bypassed each other in a socially distanced acceptable way, with one party or the other standing aside as the other passed. It cheers me to pass the time of day with others in the same situation as us, respecting each other, and giving each other that look – you know the one – we’re in this together, close – but not too close – we’re British after all.
We stopped for a snack and a cup of tea from a flask we’d brought with us (we couldn’t do without any food!) up on the dyke and enjoyed the view. Yes, sometimes there are views in flat Cambridgeshire. We threw away the tea as soon as we’d had a sip, realising it tasted of the soup that we must have last had in the flask. Yuk.
And when we’d finished and come full circle back to our car, we realised that the pub we’d parked in front of was selling take away drinks. Perfect! Nearly normal.
My lesson of the day? Accept and acknowledge your feelings, whatever they are, but focus on the little things. Make those new, little things your normal. And go for a walk!
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