The Little Things of Lockdown

There was a moment this week when I was driving back south to Bristol after a sudden emergency I had to rush home for, when the heavens opened and it started pouring with rain. The sky seemed endlessly grey overhead and spray from the car in front of me was splattering my windscreen, and I was incredibly thankful that I had listened to my dad that morning and stopped at Halfords in Lincoln to get my windscreen wiper replaced before I properly set off on my road trip back south. The rain started coming down really heavily, so loud that I had to turn the volume up even louder to be able to hear Stephen Fry's voice narrating to me Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. I was on what I see as the final home stretch, those last 45 or so miles down the M5 before I get back to my house in Bristol. And the rain was relentlessly heavy and every few miles or so I would drive under a bridge and everything stopped. For a few brief seconds everything went silent, (except Stephen Fry of course who continued louder than ever), and it was peaceful. Then I would drive out from under the bridge, and the rain seemed to hit my car a little harder than before.

It feels like happy moments amidst Lockdown over the past few months has been that bridge, those precious few moments of quiet and peace before the next onslaught hits you with full force.  

And like those pockets of calm and quiet under the bridge, it's the little things that have really made Lockdown bearable for me. Tiny moments that I took for granted so often when life was normal. Before the world shut down I spent my week days at university, and whilst I think most mornings I did say good morning to my housemates when I came downstairs for my bowl of cereal, it's very likely that some mornings I didn't. Maybe I hadn't slept well and was in a bad mood, or maybe I was running late and just grabbed my snacks for breaks and rushed out the door without saying anything at all. It's funny looking back, because now I will always say good morning to my housemates when I see them, and we'll chat briefly about plans for the day. A few months ago I wouldn't have thought twice about starting my day without saying a word. Now, I can't imagine doing that.  

Before Lockdown, I would see my best friend at least twice a week for our shared lectures, normally even more than that, because we'd have random late night trips in my car and evenings baking and trips to Cabot to the cinema. I would text her a lot, maybe not every day, but almost. And we always knew that it wouldn't be long before we saw each other again. This week marks 12 weeks since I took my best friend to the train station so she could go North back home for Lockdown. We've texted and video called and had many many phone calls over Lockdown, but all with the weight of uncertainty hanging over us; because for the first time in our friendship, we had no idea when we would next see each other again. And whilst the weeks have passed incredibly quickly and simultaneously crawled by, those little moments have kept us connected, kept us moderately sane (well as sane as we can be when we're put together) and whilst texting was a regular thing we did before lockdown, it's become a treasured little thing now. I don't know where we'll be in the near future, in the same city or with hundreds of miles between us, and sadly we won't share lectures or a dissertation supervisor ever again. But what I do know now is that we can still have ridiculous debates over text, we can still post inside jokes about each other on twitter and act like an old married couple who can't seem to agree on a single thing. We'll be fine keeping in touch no matter where we end up, but god I can't wait to give her a hug when I see her again. 

We often overlook the little things of life, because we get so caught up in the bigger picture. There's always somewhere to be, or something more important to do. The world keeps on turning and we spend our lives running from one thing to the next, never stopping, with little things like commutes and phone calls and sitting down to breakfast so constant, we pay them little to no attention at all. 

Lockdown brought many people's lives to a crashing halt. It seemed like COVID-19 stopped the world. 

Suddenly, the big things didn't seem as important as they had done before. And all those little things, that seemed of such little importance back then, became how we stayed connected with friends and family, how we coped with adapting to a new routine and how we came together to help each other through it, anyway we could. And suddenly, they didn't seem so little or unimportant anymore.  

The little things that have kept me in a good mood this week have been so small and so simple. Sitting on the sofa in my garage with the door open and watching the thunderstorm outside, where the rain was so heavy I could feel the spray of the raindrops on my bare thighs. 

Continuing with my pile of 'to be read' books and relating to the character I found on the page.

Buying an angel wing mug to fuel my latest obsession and enjoying every cup of tea from it. 

Many many texts from my best friend.

A Friday phone call that has never failed to make me smile.

Having French style breakfast with my housemates all sitting and eating together (an impressive feat when there's 9 of us)

Going out for my essential food shop and buying sinfully expensive mini cheesecakes (my favourite dessert ever) because I never let myself have them. 

Before Lockdown happened, I never have truly appreciated things like texts or phone calls or being able to walk down the street without being two metres apart or being able to see and hug loved ones. And when this time finally ends, and life starts to get back to normal (hopefully a changed and better than before kind of normal) I hope that I will still stop every once in a while, and remember the hard rain and the peace under the bridge; and treasure the little things (which on reflection, aren't that little at all).