Fewer and deeper

“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing
and rightdoing there is a field.
I'll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass
the world is too full to talk about.”

Good morning from my cosy little office.

Coffee poured; a pint of water. And ready for the unfolding day.

Here we are again: Monday — as if, right now, it's different to any other day.

Is it me but I seem to be doing far less than before the pandemic? What do I mean? Well, I've got less to pull my attention away from what I'm doing. 

Sunday (yesterday) is a good example:

a) I dug the garden, ready for planting. I don't normally spend much time in the garden because it's my wife's domain; I like the garden but I'm better equipped with a pair of secateurs and a shovel than I am considering the nuances of a planting regime. 

b) I finished reading Where The Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens. I must have read well over 150 pages. I finished the book. I loved it. 

c) I walked the dog, once in the morning and once in the evening. I know I'm not supposed to go outside more than once, but if I didn't take Alfie out for a proper walk — i.e. for more than an hour — he'd only get a cursory walk around our house. (I saw no people on my morning walk and at least 20 on the afternoon one.)

d) I cooked lunch — Meditteranean, vegan soup. 

e) And I slept in the afternoon, no doubt as a consequence of my ridiculously early start. 

(I feel blessed to be able to do all these things.)

But here's the thing: a lot will and is being written about the pandemic — both the calamitous, horrific situation and what might come from our enforced lockdown — but for my part, the need to stop being so frenetic and focused on fewer things couldn't have come soon enough. 

If it wasn't already obvious from my many years in the legal trenches etc., I'm worn out — emotionally more than physically. I'm not saying I'm not tired now — I am — but if this life, perhaps with a little more social contact and limited travel, is what I'm left with when this dark, Covid19 cloud as passed through the world, then I can live with that. 

Or to put it more succinctly: a slower, more thoughtful way of life.

And, yes, I know that sounds trite but so what. Why shouldn't I admit the fact that like so many people (I hope) this jolt to the system (and so much more), whilst very unwelcome and no doubt causing untold misery and grief, is perhaps the antidote to our always-on, consumerist society.

But then again, what do I really know?


Forever onwards...

Much love ❤️, 


Photo by Ramon Grande on Unsplash


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