The Everyday-ness of Life

One can't write these days without reflecting on how our lives have all changed and why.

COVID-19 has restricted our freedom and yet it also gives. To me, it has given time and a desire to write again. 

During the early months of enforced confinement, I tried to understand what I was feeling and writing became an outlet for those feelings.

My life changed to one of 'being' rather than 'doing'. I began paying more attention to my immediate world. The bird feeder outside my writing window captured my attention for more hours than I'd care to admit to. One of my first COVID essays follows.

The bird feeder outside my window is aquiver with activity. Sunny yellow Finches may be tiny but they hold their own against the bullying Blue Jays. But I forgive their bullying as they rush to protect something from squirrels in the hedge across the yard; their nest no doubt.

Nest building is happening everywhere. Small branches are carried in beaks until they can be woven into the flotsam already gathered. Even the doves, whose mousy appearance draws no attention, are busy nesting. I've become fond of their chubby bodies. Hope someone will say the same about me when this virus ends.

I am grateful to see and hear the Robins, knowing their welcome calls allow me to put away the CD of nature sounds that I resort to during winter months.

The Chickadees come and go, never staying long. They remind me of the Hare from Alice in Wonderland; somewhere else to be but just enough time for a quick snack before going.

Beneath it all, the squirrels and chipmunks forage for the scraps dropped. I get a little smarter each year and finally have birdfeeders they can't breach. That doesn't stop them from trying. But their attempts to climb up to the feeders are also frustrated after I've rubbed the poles with oil. Watching their tiny bodies slowly slide down the poles like mini firefighters, I can't help but giggle.

The giggle feels like a release. Watching this interplay amongst the species emphasizes that we, humans, are not playing amongst ourselves. We are not quite two months into an enforced isolation brought about by an out of control virus. 

The world hasn't come to a screeching halt but our movements are much restricted. Groceries, drugs and liquor ... our needs have been distilled down to just these. In truth, I've discovered I don't need for other things.

But the limit to stuff is not what has taken the colour from my life. It is the small social interactions that I now crave; dropping by a friend's for tea; random conversations with strangers in the grocery lineup (have you noticed that no one chats now?); friends over for dinner; hugs. Without these encounters, my life feels like a shadow of its former self.

The life I'm living today is not dramatically different and yet it's worlds away from just weeks ago. I still do the same things around the house I always did but my days feel flat compared to the 3D experience they once were. I feel as though I'm losing tiny bits of myself with each passing week.

So, until we reach the conclusion of this Orwellian novel we've become characters in, here I sit; watching the birds and creatures sociably going about their business. I hope the day will arrive soon when I'll be able to do the same.

We're now six months into this new world order and I believe (hope) we're all getting the hang of it. In addition to writing, I'm reading like never before. The book 'Becoming Mrs. Lewis' gave me a quote that simplified life during COVID:

"Why did the everyday-ness of my life sometimes feel constricting when the everyday-ness was everything?"

Until we can physically hug again, I will try to be content with embracing the every day.