After a bit more than a week, the Isle of Man has now well and truly settled into lockdown v.3.0. Compared to the rest of the world, we, on our small rock in the Irish sea, have been incredibly fortunate, with the enjoyment of around six restriction free months last year (save the tight controls surrounding travel onto our shores) spanning not only a glorious summer, but also the Christmas and festive period. Had it not been for the medium of international news, and ability to communicate outside of our own borders, life would have felt entirely normal, and one could have easily been oblivious to the pandemonium taking place elsewhere.
Towards the beginning of January however, it became clear that the virus had once again taken hold in our community, and that it had further decided to join in with our Christmas revelling, evidently trying to attend as many social occasions as it could. As a result, our Government made the tough decision to once again bring in restrictive measures, the enforcement of which is verging on draconian in comparison to the rest of the British Isles, with not much hesitation given in respect of locking people up in the affectionately known ‘Jurby Hilton’, if found to be in violation of lockdown measures.
By February, these steps had clearly been effective, and our population of 85,000 alcoholics clinging onto a rock had no hesitation in getting back into the full swing of things, with all restrictions once again lifted, and social events quickly filling the gaps in people’s previously dust covered and neglected diaries.
Unfortunately, after only one month – and quite a lot of fanfare in the British media primarily focused on freshly pulled pints – those very same diaries have once again found themselves victim to that rubbery menace, the eraser. So, here we find ourselves agin, twiddling our thumbs, missing our loved ones and moping around the house in our stale pajamas. Or are we?
I for one have to confess to actually rather enjoying lockdown, having been genuinely upset at the prospect of our January bout coming to an end after such a short time. The announcement of our most recent call to solitary confinement therefore came as rather welcome news, despite it also bringing with it the cancellation of several events and dates which had genuine importance to me.
Now, I am quite aware that I am in a very fortunate position, in that my work is more or less unaffected, I am not facing domestic abuse, and I am my own favorite conversational partner; issues, to name only a few, which I know many people are severely struggling with throughout this period of pandemic. I have by now (as I am sure many of us have) witnessed several such sad occasions where the loved ones of friends have passed away, without them being granted the closure of attending a funeral; a horrible and saddening thought indeed. I have likewise seen friends of mine who are in business face real, and potentially irreversible consequences to their life’s work, and cannot begin to imagine the strain they and their families are under. Unfortunately my following paragraphs will in all likeliness bare no relatable resemblance to the lives of people facing such tragic and stressful times, so please do not think that I am in any way trying to trivialise or negate such circumstances, far be from me any such intention.
What I am rather hinting at, is that now once again dusty diary, which for many of us finds itself unexpectedly sitting forgotten in some corner of a drawer. That same diary, that for years has dictated your every move, goose-stepping you from one appointment to the next, only to be followed by a quick change into full dress uniform and off to the evening’s stint of socialising, all the while you are being reigned down on by a tirade of emails, left right and centre, like a hail of overly wordy combatant gunfire. Come the evening, you finally retreat to your bed, exhausted and defeated, only to eventually awaken to the stark realisation that you will have to go through the whole ordeal once again, day after day, endlessly for the rest of your life. Ouch.
You would at this stage be right to question the rational for making a big song and dance out of the need and drive to complete a set of goals each day, like any other human being, with the hope that they go towards developing, enhancing or finalising whatever it is we are working on (be this professionally, socially or otherwise) and you would indeed be correct to do so. Of course we all have busy lives, of course we want to have goals and objectives that add meaning and give us both a sense of purpose and accomplishment when we progress them. Without that diary and the seemingly impossible list of tasks which need attending to, life would be thoroughly dull and I am quite sure, would spiral into a fairly bleak and obscure place given enough time.
I spent the first week of our new lockdown in a bit of a mania, taking advantage of the reduction in face-to-face meetings and the various projects which had temporarily been put on hold, to clear all of those niggly items I had put off for far too long. I even got as far as to tidy up that room found in many a household, having once started life as a guest room, now gradually repurposed as a general repository for any old schrott.
The above process has been great, and it is one reason I am enjoying lockdown. It is an opportunity to get on top of all of those things which haven’t gone away, but have instead been pushed to the back of your mind, from where every now and then, their piercing and hallowing cries can still be heard, hoping that one day they too may become done and released from that eternal damnation which is best intentions.
Today then, having finally released the voices from what must have felt like purgatory, for the first time that I can remember as far as I am able to think back, I woke up, made my coffee, sat to watch the news and when beginning to contemplate the rest of my day, realised that I had nothing to do. Yes, I could have probably done some gardening, or wiped down a counter or two, but there was nothing I had in my mind or on any to do list which required attention, addressing or forgetting about in any way. It was actually a slightly perplexing feeling, being able to progress onto Rick Stein’s Mediterranean Escapes, giving him my undivided attention without once drifting off to work, or thinking about what time I should leave the house to get somewhere.
After an hour or so however, I found that without having my mind rush around 12 different thoughts at the same time, the TV plainly got a bit boring, and I was now actively looking for something to do. Again, a strange thought when usually on a weekend, I would be actively thinking about how to avoid doing the things I knew I was meant to be doing. So, with few other options at hand, I hopped in the car, drove into the countryside with my binoculars and went for a walk. It is years since I have done that, which, when you live on as beautiful an Island as I do, with such varied and wonderful countryside lying in wait around every corner, is actually rather tragic.
Well, it was one of the best days I have had so far this year, if not the whole past year. It felt like a true luxury, parking the car up at a crossing I had not previously stopped at and being able to potter about, with no agenda or aim, unhindered by any feeling of guilt that my time may be better applied elsewhere, and instead, simply enjoying a lovely day of sunshine. Walking up and down, greeting a few sheep here and waving at a rabbit there, I genuinely felt lighter, as though somehow released from the responsibility of having to adult. Of course, and inevitable, thoughts of things to do did start creeping back in throughout the day, but not in a stressful ‘this needs to be done’ way. Instead, it was a genuine moment to reflect on and develop ideas, rather than the usual mania which is often beneficial primarily in getting a job done, serving as a real opportunity to consolidate my thinking on various concepts and come up with new ideas, something, that it became clear to me, I had not actually had time to do in some while.
So, a time to be sat twiddling your thumbs then? Not at all. Rather a time to reset and find the positives in this truly bizarre and unique opportunity to stop, take count, and know that the world is not going anywhere without you. Not for the next few months at least.
Charlton Krentz 