Isolation Motivation
We’re three weeks into official lockdown, so I’m not going to patronise and assume nobody has seen these kind of posts on Instagram:
Well, you lack the basic empathic skills to make you a canny lad, Farrah.
I don’t know anyone who can speak fluent mandarin after a month in quarantine. I also don’t know anyone who can learn how to install a flush skirting board in their bathroom after three weeks of bashing their heads against the wall from trying to teach their own kids, either. When was the last time anyone started a business in only six weeks, whilst also realising their new boyfriend, who they’ve subsequently been trapped with, is in fact the most sinfully boring person who ever had the audacity to be born (isolation increases the use of hyperbole). Never mind this all happening in the midst of one of the worst economic health crises’ in recent history?!
Obviously, Farrah has started his particular side hustle as a mandarin-speaking joiner already. Good luck to him. All the best. Take care.
The fact is, the best of us are either on the front line, risking their lives to save others, or risking their lives getting us about on public transport, or teaching their kids geometry or some-shit, whilst also bouncing a baby in the palm of their hand and taking the dog for a walk six times a day. If you have time to focus on those goals, like learning a new language, or starting that book you promised yourself you’d write, or organising your photo albums, or finally learning the meaning of the off-side rule, then fill your boots. What does Farrah think we’re all doing? Sitting around with our thumbs up our arses, staring at the ceiling? It’s really the arrogance of those posts that really wind me up, as if they’re the font of all knowledge and inspiration and they’ve deigned to let us see what the good life looks like. Rude.
If you finally have the time to breathe, go for walks, cook, and just survive through this thing, then that is okay too. Christ, we all work hard enough, don’t we deserve to take this time off from the demands of such a fast paced modern world? It takes zero prisoners. We might not get another opportunity to put our feet up and not feel guilty about it, for the rest of our lives. The last time I felt like this, it was the summer holidays and I was fourteen. Most adults don’t see this kind of respite until they’re pensioners.
We’re all different. Some of us thrive on keeping ourselves busy, giving ourselves jobs and lining up support systems for those in need, or volunteering, or just getting that peeling garden set sanded and painted again, or cleaning out the fridge of old jars of spam and failed sourdough starters from three months ago. But some of us, who find the world and the competitive road we’re all herded on each and every day, overwhelming, and so it’s a welcome and quiet reprieve.
It’s time to slow down and breathe, and I repeat, not feel guilty about it.
Breathe. Eat. Sleep. Stretch. Repeat.
Not to mention, all the while this is going on in our brain-boxes, hundreds of people are dying every day in the UK. It’s rising every day. This is a time unseen for most of us. The global anxiety level is high. I have to do what I can to establish a routine, make the most of this time I have, but check in with those numbers every day to remember, this isn’t a state paid holiday. I have personally always maintained that life is a balance, anyone reading my blog would agree. This time that has either been gifted or forced upon it (a bit of both, I’d concede), is no different.
It’s important to remember that the people who are trying to influence us aren’t helping us; they’re feeling better about themselves. Instagram, especially. The platform exists so we can reach out and find validation, some praise for being humans. That’s the basic psychology behind it. It’s not even the more grandiose aspects of the platform that personally irritate me. It’s the mundane. “I colour- coded and ordered my bookshelf!” Thank you for that picture. Well done. It’s a bookshelf. I’m happy that it’s colour coded, I really am, it is satisfying to see, but I don’t need to know about it. What you did was sit for an hour or so and colour code your books. That shit isn’t stuff we see in Oscar winning movies. Seeing it on Twitter or Instagram, though, makes me feel guilty that my own bookshelf is not colour coded. Even though I couldn’t give a tiny mouses mitten whether it is or not. I’m suddenly hyper aware that my bookshelf is disordered, and a wave of displaced anxiety arises. Should I order my bookshelf? Am I wasting time? Should my bookcase be disordered? Yes. It’s the way I like it. This is coming from a person who takes great pride and personal relief from tidying. I love tidying. I love ordering stuff, and I can’t relax after work until everything is in its place. But do you see me posting about it on instagram? No. Why? Because while I believe in those small, beautiful meditations, whether that’s colour-coding a bookshelf, making a coffee in the morning, writing in a journal; it’s personal. As soon as we start posting about those moments, we’re diluting the experience and it no longer has any resonance, because you’re doing it for someone else instead of yourself. Yes, we might get some gratification from it, but why does someone need to see that I cooked a beautiful meal for me to know, that, well... I cooked a beautiful meal? I have to be so careful to remember that someone else’s life and someone else’s grievances are not my own. This is the trouble with social media, in general. It’s a hive mind. Once you’re logged in, other people’s experiences becomes yours, thrust upon you, whether you wanted it or not. So you did one small workout this morning, feeling good, right? But that other slim, tanned, beautiful, make-upped person did two. Plus a run. With intervals. And a fruit smoothie afterwards. Christ, is anything we do good enough? The influencers who are posting from home about how to stay fit and keep the pounds off, they’re only wanting to feel better about themselves. It has nothing to do with you. If someone is lauding that shit all over you, and you’re quite happy wondering what kind of a potato you are, then unfollow, fren.
At the end of the day, if we come out of this a little bit fitter, or a few pounds heavier, it doth not matter a fuck. What’s important is that we come out of this thing alive.
While we can roll our eyes at these accounts, it’s also vital to know that a lot of people with the time to do all this stuff can probably afford to. Once you see it, it’s very hard not to notice how out of touch they can be. Personally, I have a safety net. I’m being looked after by my employers, I have some savings, my outgoings are small. So I’m trying to learn french. But others, aren’t so lucky. They’re either still working in a Co-op, or working from home, or have lost their jobs due to bad bosses (who will be named and shamed after this, I’m sure), and are too busy applying for universal credit to spend their spare minutes worrying whether they’ve learned a new skill or not. This is where I’m coming to my next point. If someone is capitalising on this, whether it’s selling weight loss shakes, reusable gloves or masks for a high profit, they’re not influencers or half way decent people. It’s one thing to get by, creating work where we can get it (I set up a Patreon), and we’re quite happy to take what comes from people who can afford it. But it’s quite another to profit from a disaster like this. I might be okay for a couple of months. But if this stretches on until 2021, I’m not sure where I’m going to be. So forgive me for not having time for holier-than-thou posts about how we ought to be spending this time isolating. I’m too busy regretting the time I’m missing with my friends, my family, sad that I can’t celebrate getting engaged (I got engaged) with my loved ones, sad for my friends who’ve had to cancel their own weddings, sad for friends who are losing work and money, whose businesses might crash. Lives. The economy is crashing, France is in recession, and here I’ve got Billy Big Balls telling me I’m not disciplined enough to achieve my goals.
There’s a lot going on right now. The most important thing, human contact, and the people we love, that’s what we need the most. Not a new bloody skill.
So breathe. Eat. Sleep. Stretch. Repeat.
If that’s all you can do, do it. Just staying home, we’re saving lives. We might not know it. But we are.
Can you imagine coming out the other end of this, the world opening again, only to find our favourite pubs and coffee shops closing due to a financial crash, unemployment sky rocketing, not to mention the lines of funerals of people who have died, and Great Farrah of the Dick Swinging comes out of his bubble, speaking mandarin and profiting from his new business, telling us all that we wasted our time?
Jesus. Talk about tone-deaf.
Breathe. Eat. Sleep. Stretch. Repeat.