A Letter from Lockdown

So, COVID-19 has locked down the world but specifically the UK and my life for 7 days.

From a truly selfish perspective it has been, so far, a holiday from life. In this I mean that the time demands of ordinary life have paused.

I still have work to do but so little of it relative to the time available that I can spend a couple of hours a day working and still have hours of free time. This also applies socially. By this standard, I do miss seeing people, going for a drink and eating out. I also know that the longer that we are locked down, the greater the sense of loss will become. However, currently, my time is not being expended on social engagements that I might otherwise have been indifferent to.

This has meant, since lockdown, I have had time to exercise every day, enjoy breakfast every day, sleep until 8 and then lie in bed until 9 every day and to play games consoles every day. However, most significantly and satisfyingly, I have been able to read and think clearly every day. So often, in 'normal life', there is so much that demands my time, energy and attention that contemplation of things much more significant than an argument with a student have no place in my mind. To steal an analogy from Daniel Kahneman, it feels like I've gone from sprinting as fast as I can, where the only thing that I can think about is the maintenance of my speed, to a stroll where I can not only think clearly but also pay attention and thoroughly contemplate on what is occurring around me.

I should emphasise, again, that this sense of contentment is selfish. So selfish that it is accompanied by a sense of guilt. I am am aware that I am extremely, and I mean extremely, privileged to be in this position. To not be worrying (seriously) about my life, to not have the lives of others precariously balanced in my hands, to not be worrying about my job or money or food. I am immensely lucky that I can see this horrible situation as an opportunity to be pretentious and think.

However, what trumps the guilt is a sadness that it takes a global pandemic to feel that I have the opportunity to stroll and think and read. That society, ordinarily, places so little importance on protecting time to do this.

This lack of protected time means that I rarely think about those things that are more significant than work, money, politics, gossip and who/what I'm supposed to by angry at. I find myself completed immersed in each of these individual and interconnected stories. I feel dread in my core when I have work that is due tomorrow and I've barely started. As if, in the grand scheme of things this matters. Even more troubling is that this lack of time to stroll and think means I get possessed by angry narratives that really don't matter. When I'm sprinting, I don't have time to ask why I hate who I hate and how my hatred is constructed on fragments of a larger story that I have mistakenly forced into a coherent narrative. Yet, because I am relentlessly sprinting to match the pace of a society that honours sprinters, I don't usually have time to slow, stroll and contemplate how important the sprint is and most pertinently, where I am sprinting to.