My heart is full. What I feared most has become a most comfortable, reflective time. Whilst it is chaotic, every day, I watch as each of my children think, learn and evolve. I admire them each as they move from one idea to another. There is no structure, there is no bell, there is no timetable. We get up, have breakfast, talk, laugh, argue, lock ourselves in rooms, wander around the block for fresh air on a scooter or a bike, swing on our make-do plastic swing, argue about what square we are allowed to use chalk in when we cover the sidewalk with rainbow patterns. My heart is full.
Life has taken on a slow pace. Our lives have become intentional. We sleep in, we stay in our pyjamas, we take the time to prepare our breakfasts and we talk and listen to each other. We linger over the preparation of lunches and dinners cutting u[ fruits and vegetables whilst listening to Deezer’s selection of jazz, 80’s mix or French top tracks. We take long, slow walks in the mornings and afternoons, losing ourselves in the streets around our home, taking in the architecture and gardens of our community. We stop and collect every gum nut and flower we can find. My eldest takes photographs, my youngest shoots ahead on his bike whilst my daughter experiments the high speeds which can be obtained from her four wheel drive remote controlled car. We collect hard rubbish to upcycle at home and sit on a quiet oval feeling the grass between our toes. This time outside makes our skin shine, our hearts slow down and helps us sleep more soundly.
For all the fear, chaos and worry the virus is helping us slow down. We are learning to appreciate what we have. We are observing one another and reflecting on what we have. We appreciate the small things, the songs of the birds, the rain on the windows. Forced away from the ‘busyness’ of what our lives normally resemble. Every few hours I feel a rush of panic, of anxiety as my body tells me to get busy, to do something. But it’s just phantom palpitations longing for a routine that isn’t there anymore.