By Miriam Strickland
WHAT can I say about this year that hasn’t already been said, sometimes ad nauseam? Well, one thing I have discovered is that everyone has a story about their year, every one as unique as the person relating it. So regardless, here’s mine.
At the beginning of this year I wrote a list of items I planned to achieve. Not exactly New Year’s resolutions, just some items to aim for. Reviewing the list now, I see that a few have been at least partly achieved, some not at all. But two items stand out.
First, the one that reads: “Run 5km two or more x weekly”
WHAT can I say about this year that hasn’t already been said, sometimes ad nauseam? Well, one thing I have discovered is that everyone has a story about their year, every one as unique as the person relating it. So regardless, here’s mine.
At the beginning of this year I wrote a list of items I planned to achieve. Not exactly New Year’s resolutions, just some items to aim for. Reviewing the list now, I see that a few have been at least partly achieved, some not at all. But two items stand out.
First, the one that reads: “Run 5km two or more x weekly”
I’ve enjoyed running since taking it up while still employed solely in retail work. But since quitting retail to become a group exercise instructor my resources of both time and energy were limited and running required more of both than I had to spare, and I was down to just one run a week.
Enter Covid-19. Abruptly, time was available. As many found, the shutdown offered the ideal opportunity to get out and go for walks or, with more energy available as well, to run. Until the gyms returned a month ago I was averaging over 45km a week. Without the Covid-imposed break in routine, I’m doubtful I would have made any progress toward that aim.
The other notable item on my “to do this year” list reads: “One whole day every second weekend totally off work.” Think of that: finding it necessary to make a note to take one day off….per fortnight. I had classes scheduled five days a week, or six depending on the fortnightly rotation I shared with another instructor. But I had been called on to cover other instructors’ classes on my free days so often that I had begun to feel I was permanently on call.
Despite my note to myself, when the first shutdown was called my mind was still so attuned to being on “go” the whole time that my foot stayed firmly on the accelerator. Very soon I had a new routine teaching live to Facebook, as well as pre-recording classes on video. And I participated in other instructors’ online classes to maintain my own fitness, ready for return to the gym as soon as it was allowed to reopen. I was very much still “on call”. No progress on that one day off per fortnight yet.
But things started to fall apart. With me working from home, and Pauline’s gardening work reduced, we were in each other’s company much more than usual. My online and video class recording occupied physical and aural space in our modest-sized, open plan home, and it was tough working around each other’s needs. We had several heated exchanges and the atmosphere was getting thicker. Finally, about the end of May we were engaged in a shouting match so strenuous that Pauline called a halt, until I calmed down. I couldn’t remember her doing that before and the shock forced its way to the forefront of my consciousness.
I can’t recall what I did next or how much time elapsed, but when we returned to sit down and talk again, I was able to hear about what vibes I had been emitting, about how much time I seemed to be distracted by one thing or another. How I never seemed to sit down and relax. I asked for how long this had been the case, assuming it would be just the last few months of lockdown. But she said “About a year, maybe more”.
I must have realised I needed to revise my schedule when I wrote my list of aims for 2020, that “one day off per fortnight”. But it was clear that fully half the year had passed without doing anything about it. The arrival of the first Covid lockdown offered me an unbroken string of days off on a silver platter, but I might as well have smacked it away with an open hand and an ugly scowl.
So I took myself away for a week. Set up a few phone counselling sessions, committed to Smiling Mind’s June daily meditation month, and started a journal to record things to be happy about each day. Walked in the early mornings in the winter quiet, in the company of the tall trees of the Strzelecki ranges.
I barely had time to start feeling the benefit of beginning some self-care when the gyms reopened in late June. Back to live classes, new rules, contact tracing, disinfectant, temperature scanning, nothing spontaneous. Stories, many stories, relief to be back, anxiety how to proceed. Signs on the walls, stickers on the floors, big red letters, STOP!
So in the second lockdown that is exactly what I did. As more than a year’s worth of adrenalin finally drained away, I went through a short stage of seeing everything through a kind of greyscale filter. That must have been about the time I told our Post editor there was nowhere to go and nothing to do so there was nothing to write about. No wonder she called, concerned, to invite me for a cuppa, and we ended up taking about death!
But I kept moving, on fruitful things. Set up a generous sized vegie patch. Continued daily meditation and journaling. Tried out new recipes and enjoyed the physical and sensory activity that is cooking. Allowed myself to feel lonely, as distinct from just being physically distanced, and then to seek remedies. Quit my old Toastmasters club and joined two dynamic new ones. Kept up with running, and joined in with our local running group’s activities, even if virtual at first. Establishing connections and focus points that can persist regardless of external circumstances.
I feel for the many people for whom this year has meant loss, pain and hardship. I recognise that for some, it may take years to regain stability. And I feel sorry that some have gone, taken by the virus itself or because they could no longer face the circumstances that efforts to control the virus imposed on them.
Along with everyone else, I’ve managed cuppas on the chilly verandah instead of cosy inside; Zoom, Zoom and yet more Zoom, red and white safety ribbon everywhere, megalitres of hand sanitizer. My eldest sister has aged many years more than just the one we have endured, and I’m worried for her. My New York cousin and her husband were due to arrive here for their first ever visit on 26 March, cancelled of course. Who knows how long it will be before they can come now.
Despite all that, for myself I have to admit intense gratitude for this peculiar year. I believe that only such a global event would have been enough to make me rest and reset. I’m not sure even a major personal health crisis would have had the same effect, because in that case the rest of the world would have continued at the same breakneck speed, and I could easily see myself breaking my own neck in my rush to get back into the race.
Back at work now, and with extra activities to fit in, but all of it set up to nourish and invigorate me. I’ve already said no to some work requests, and arranged a week off for Pauline and myself at Christmas BEFORE I checked whether it suited my employers.
My gratitude is not just for me either. I owe it to everyone who has put up with me being half-present, rushing into the next task before finishing the previous one.
Next year’s “to achieve” list? Not making one.
Enter Covid-19. Abruptly, time was available. As many found, the shutdown offered the ideal opportunity to get out and go for walks or, with more energy available as well, to run. Until the gyms returned a month ago I was averaging over 45km a week. Without the Covid-imposed break in routine, I’m doubtful I would have made any progress toward that aim.
The other notable item on my “to do this year” list reads: “One whole day every second weekend totally off work.” Think of that: finding it necessary to make a note to take one day off….per fortnight. I had classes scheduled five days a week, or six depending on the fortnightly rotation I shared with another instructor. But I had been called on to cover other instructors’ classes on my free days so often that I had begun to feel I was permanently on call.
Despite my note to myself, when the first shutdown was called my mind was still so attuned to being on “go” the whole time that my foot stayed firmly on the accelerator. Very soon I had a new routine teaching live to Facebook, as well as pre-recording classes on video. And I participated in other instructors’ online classes to maintain my own fitness, ready for return to the gym as soon as it was allowed to reopen. I was very much still “on call”. No progress on that one day off per fortnight yet.
But things started to fall apart. With me working from home, and Pauline’s gardening work reduced, we were in each other’s company much more than usual. My online and video class recording occupied physical and aural space in our modest-sized, open plan home, and it was tough working around each other’s needs. We had several heated exchanges and the atmosphere was getting thicker. Finally, about the end of May we were engaged in a shouting match so strenuous that Pauline called a halt, until I calmed down. I couldn’t remember her doing that before and the shock forced its way to the forefront of my consciousness.
I can’t recall what I did next or how much time elapsed, but when we returned to sit down and talk again, I was able to hear about what vibes I had been emitting, about how much time I seemed to be distracted by one thing or another. How I never seemed to sit down and relax. I asked for how long this had been the case, assuming it would be just the last few months of lockdown. But she said “About a year, maybe more”.
I must have realised I needed to revise my schedule when I wrote my list of aims for 2020, that “one day off per fortnight”. But it was clear that fully half the year had passed without doing anything about it. The arrival of the first Covid lockdown offered me an unbroken string of days off on a silver platter, but I might as well have smacked it away with an open hand and an ugly scowl.
So I took myself away for a week. Set up a few phone counselling sessions, committed to Smiling Mind’s June daily meditation month, and started a journal to record things to be happy about each day. Walked in the early mornings in the winter quiet, in the company of the tall trees of the Strzelecki ranges.
I barely had time to start feeling the benefit of beginning some self-care when the gyms reopened in late June. Back to live classes, new rules, contact tracing, disinfectant, temperature scanning, nothing spontaneous. Stories, many stories, relief to be back, anxiety how to proceed. Signs on the walls, stickers on the floors, big red letters, STOP!
So in the second lockdown that is exactly what I did. As more than a year’s worth of adrenalin finally drained away, I went through a short stage of seeing everything through a kind of greyscale filter. That must have been about the time I told our Post editor there was nowhere to go and nothing to do so there was nothing to write about. No wonder she called, concerned, to invite me for a cuppa, and we ended up taking about death!
But I kept moving, on fruitful things. Set up a generous sized vegie patch. Continued daily meditation and journaling. Tried out new recipes and enjoyed the physical and sensory activity that is cooking. Allowed myself to feel lonely, as distinct from just being physically distanced, and then to seek remedies. Quit my old Toastmasters club and joined two dynamic new ones. Kept up with running, and joined in with our local running group’s activities, even if virtual at first. Establishing connections and focus points that can persist regardless of external circumstances.
I feel for the many people for whom this year has meant loss, pain and hardship. I recognise that for some, it may take years to regain stability. And I feel sorry that some have gone, taken by the virus itself or because they could no longer face the circumstances that efforts to control the virus imposed on them.
Along with everyone else, I’ve managed cuppas on the chilly verandah instead of cosy inside; Zoom, Zoom and yet more Zoom, red and white safety ribbon everywhere, megalitres of hand sanitizer. My eldest sister has aged many years more than just the one we have endured, and I’m worried for her. My New York cousin and her husband were due to arrive here for their first ever visit on 26 March, cancelled of course. Who knows how long it will be before they can come now.
Despite all that, for myself I have to admit intense gratitude for this peculiar year. I believe that only such a global event would have been enough to make me rest and reset. I’m not sure even a major personal health crisis would have had the same effect, because in that case the rest of the world would have continued at the same breakneck speed, and I could easily see myself breaking my own neck in my rush to get back into the race.
Back at work now, and with extra activities to fit in, but all of it set up to nourish and invigorate me. I’ve already said no to some work requests, and arranged a week off for Pauline and myself at Christmas BEFORE I checked whether it suited my employers.
My gratitude is not just for me either. I owe it to everyone who has put up with me being half-present, rushing into the next task before finishing the previous one.
Next year’s “to achieve” list? Not making one.