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A thread on Friday
Did you ever have that feeling of being in the middle of nowhere? Sometimes it's nice to be apart from the hustle and bustle of daily life – a change of scene, a sense of distance. But did I ever think I'd be missing the hustle and bustle?
Did you ever have that feeling of being in the middle of nowhere? Sometimes it's nice to be apart from the hustle and bustle of daily life – a change of scene, a sense of distance. But did I ever think I'd be missing the hustle and bustle?
After a while, that middle of nowhere feeling isn't quite as attractive as it was. For some, it's not if as there’s nothing to do, whether it’s work or childcare or home schooling or caring for others, or all of these at once.
But when the busyness fades, what then? That's when we re-acquaint ourselves with the middle of nowhere. What should we do in the summer? Not sure. Well, what about Easter then? Can't be certain. Next week? Pretty much the same as this week I suspect.
That's okay, because if there aren't places to go, at least there are people to see. Well yes, up to a point. You can see people in the street or in shops or in a park if you stay two metres away from them. And only meet them one at a time.
That’s the worst thing about the middle of nowhere – the lack of connection. It’s great to be able to use technology and some of the changes to working practices have been profound, and made a real and positive difference to people’s working lives.
But technology isn’t so great for conveying sympathy when someone passes away, for example. Or for visiting someone in a care home, or in hospital. A virtual hug isn’t really the same, is it, and you can’t hold someone’s hand over Zoom.
I thought about whether to write this thread at all. There are people for whom isolation is their daily norm. My home has safety, warmth, space, light and food; we have online access and enough technology to go round so that we don't need to share. We are fortunate by any measure
So it would be ill-judged to complain. But acknowledging the sense that most of the normal waymarks and timestamps have disappeared, feels important – the weekend routines, time with friends and family, visiting places of interest, just sharing a coffee – all suspended for now
There is hope. There are vaccines. The daylight grows longer, and the darkness less. But there has been loss – loss of education, loss of work, loss of opportunity, economic harm, impact on mental and physical health that will all take time to recover, if they recover at all.
And loss of life, too. With attendant grief less readily shared, with support and comfort harder to convey. Love we would gladly have given, to soothe the sharpness of sorrow, can only be expressed in more limited and less direct and more distant ways
But still there is hope, and cause for hope. Little children laughing, knee deep in snow. Possibilities that some of the flexibility that has been embraced perforce might have been recognised to have been for the better, and might be adopted for good, for good
Getting from nowhere to somewhere will take time. Let us not settle for just anywhere. We have learned some things about what we don't need (like all travelling every working day) and we have learned we need some things more than we thought (like being with people and being kind)
One thing about being in the middle is this: once you start moving, you are getting nearer to the edge. These little hopeful movements are taking us slowly, imperceptibly, towards somewhere. The choices we are making today are already forming tomorrow’s somewhere.
Let us commit to moving with hope, kindness and care. And let us remember that having taken a year to get to where we are, we need not expect to get somewhere in a week. We can afford to be patient – to care enough to give the scars of this nowhere land the time they need to heal
