It's such strange times we find ourselves in. Each day we are dealing with
new ways to navigate the world. Finding a new normal. What we have all
discovered the hard way is that noone was prepared for a pandemic. Everything
we've seen in recent years (AIDS, SARS, Ebola, MERS) happened to different
groups of people or in different countries. If we were lucky, we got to watch
this at a distance on the telly. Occasionally we were touched personally, but
these threats to our health didn't have us jumping at shadows the way COVID19
has.
It began to hit home a few weeks ago, when the first interstate conference I was presenting at was cancelled. Then one by one other things have been cancelled or postponed. Theatre. Gigs. Galleries. Museums. I even won tickets to the cinema which were later cancelled. Each email or social media post updating me on the closures felt personal. Much of what I hold dear and brings me joy was being taken away, one by one. It felt like life in 2020 was getting smaller and smaller. Like little tiny pieces of my heart were being chipped away.
Behind all this was a fear. Not about getting sick. But for the people who work in these industries. Artists. Performers. Bar staff. Casually employed with little safety net to catch them. What would happen to the small businesses we love? Yesterday, with great care on our part and theirs, we visited a local cafe which has been part of our lives for six years. If they could find a way to limit access and still continue to function, we wanted to give them money. Even to help with one more day of trading. So many small local businesses are having to adapt to survive. It feels hard to find the right balance of limiting going out and somehow supporting them.
In all this weirdness my work in an academic library, for the time being, continues. You can't move lectures and teaching online without giving students access to computers, wifi and books. Each day we reassess the latest information and try to find a safe way forward. I'm trying my best to check in on people and talk through any concerns they have. I understand the fear and uneasiness. But weirdly I am calm. It feels like being in the eye of the storm. The calm center while the world around is swirling. Talking with colleagues last week I asked if I should be more alarmed. Was I being too calm? Some of them felt similar. We all agreed that we are ok. We have info from the department of health and feel informed. It's navigating the constantly changing new normal that is difficult.
What I have found the hardest is social distancing. It's only in the last few days that I've realised how tactile I am. If someone is distressed, I automatically go to touch their arm. If I know them better, I want to hug them. I've realised how much I need comfort too. The reassurance from being embraced by people who mean the world to me is so important. And that's the kicker. We are pack animals, whether that's family groups or friends. Community is important. We have to find ways to be together...alone.
I feel lucky as I am chatty and confident online. I comment and reach out through social media. This helps combat isolation. I'm equipped to keep connected with people, as long as I have power and wifi. If I needed to bunker down for a few weeks, I could do it. Actually, the introvert inside me would love some down time. Harry Potter marathon, anyone? But for a while yet, I'll be heading to work. Seeing people working from home or just taking time out and isolating seems like such a luxury.
And this is where being in frontline service roles feels complicated. We were doing our regular grocery shop today at Ceres. A local organic, bulk wholefoods store. We've shopped there weekly for over four years. We know the crew and usually stop for chats and laughs, while grabbing a coffee and enjoying the fresh air, trees, birds and random dogs we get to pat. But today we all talked more deeply. 'How are you?' was responded to with honesty. People are calmly on edge. Ensuring everything (including hands) are cleaned between each interaction. Distance is kept between everyone. Peter and I understand what this is like. Working means money, but also vulnerability. It's a difficult space to exist in.
I keep thinking of everyone on the frontline. I've been in my car twice this week, as ambulances have roared past. I can't imagine the extra level of fear/caution it takes to do their job right now. I feel for everyone working in retail and hospitality. Especially anyone who is a casual. If you get a chance, take a second to check on them and thank them.
It's felt like the best and worst of people has been triggered by this health threat. People clearing out supermarkets and fighting over toilet paper. People travelling to regional towns to wipe out supplies meant for the locals. People putting themselves ahead of others. Panicking. Hoarding. Being selfish. I can't understand it, as only a couple of months ago, when a large part of Australia was effected by bush fires everyone dug deep and wanted to help. Where did that spirit go?
Luckily there are amazing examples of kindness and caring too. People offering to help anyone unable to get to the shops. Sharing what they have. Checking in on people. Offering whatever they can spare. People are also thinking of creative ways to support people in the arts or casuals who have lost hours. This shows how a real community looks after each other. Even if all you can do is take a moment to honestly ask how someone is.
I've had moments this week, sat on the couch engrossed in a tv show, where life seemed completely normal. I stop and catch myself, asking was it's all a weird dream? Did I make this up? It's hard to fathom from the safety of your own home. But beyond the front door is a changed landscape. What it will look like in weeks and months to come we can't guess. Will it highlight inequity in society and make us care and support vulnerable people? Will our schools, aged care and health services be boosted and better resourced? Will casuals have a safety net? Will it make us cherish the chance to hug someone we care about? Will we talk more honestly about how we feel? Will we live life more simply and continue to play games and puzzles, read books, bake and garden? Will we be grateful for art, musicians, theatre, film, cultural institutions and libraries? Is there any chance of a silver lining in the darkest of world events? Will it change us in ways we didn't imagine?
I guess time will tell. But in the meantime, stay strong. Stay healthy. Keep talking and checking in. Keep caring about others. And let me know how you are and if I can help. We're in this together, even if we feel alone.
It began to hit home a few weeks ago, when the first interstate conference I was presenting at was cancelled. Then one by one other things have been cancelled or postponed. Theatre. Gigs. Galleries. Museums. I even won tickets to the cinema which were later cancelled. Each email or social media post updating me on the closures felt personal. Much of what I hold dear and brings me joy was being taken away, one by one. It felt like life in 2020 was getting smaller and smaller. Like little tiny pieces of my heart were being chipped away.
Behind all this was a fear. Not about getting sick. But for the people who work in these industries. Artists. Performers. Bar staff. Casually employed with little safety net to catch them. What would happen to the small businesses we love? Yesterday, with great care on our part and theirs, we visited a local cafe which has been part of our lives for six years. If they could find a way to limit access and still continue to function, we wanted to give them money. Even to help with one more day of trading. So many small local businesses are having to adapt to survive. It feels hard to find the right balance of limiting going out and somehow supporting them.
In all this weirdness my work in an academic library, for the time being, continues. You can't move lectures and teaching online without giving students access to computers, wifi and books. Each day we reassess the latest information and try to find a safe way forward. I'm trying my best to check in on people and talk through any concerns they have. I understand the fear and uneasiness. But weirdly I am calm. It feels like being in the eye of the storm. The calm center while the world around is swirling. Talking with colleagues last week I asked if I should be more alarmed. Was I being too calm? Some of them felt similar. We all agreed that we are ok. We have info from the department of health and feel informed. It's navigating the constantly changing new normal that is difficult.
What I have found the hardest is social distancing. It's only in the last few days that I've realised how tactile I am. If someone is distressed, I automatically go to touch their arm. If I know them better, I want to hug them. I've realised how much I need comfort too. The reassurance from being embraced by people who mean the world to me is so important. And that's the kicker. We are pack animals, whether that's family groups or friends. Community is important. We have to find ways to be together...alone.
I feel lucky as I am chatty and confident online. I comment and reach out through social media. This helps combat isolation. I'm equipped to keep connected with people, as long as I have power and wifi. If I needed to bunker down for a few weeks, I could do it. Actually, the introvert inside me would love some down time. Harry Potter marathon, anyone? But for a while yet, I'll be heading to work. Seeing people working from home or just taking time out and isolating seems like such a luxury.
And this is where being in frontline service roles feels complicated. We were doing our regular grocery shop today at Ceres. A local organic, bulk wholefoods store. We've shopped there weekly for over four years. We know the crew and usually stop for chats and laughs, while grabbing a coffee and enjoying the fresh air, trees, birds and random dogs we get to pat. But today we all talked more deeply. 'How are you?' was responded to with honesty. People are calmly on edge. Ensuring everything (including hands) are cleaned between each interaction. Distance is kept between everyone. Peter and I understand what this is like. Working means money, but also vulnerability. It's a difficult space to exist in.
I keep thinking of everyone on the frontline. I've been in my car twice this week, as ambulances have roared past. I can't imagine the extra level of fear/caution it takes to do their job right now. I feel for everyone working in retail and hospitality. Especially anyone who is a casual. If you get a chance, take a second to check on them and thank them.
It's felt like the best and worst of people has been triggered by this health threat. People clearing out supermarkets and fighting over toilet paper. People travelling to regional towns to wipe out supplies meant for the locals. People putting themselves ahead of others. Panicking. Hoarding. Being selfish. I can't understand it, as only a couple of months ago, when a large part of Australia was effected by bush fires everyone dug deep and wanted to help. Where did that spirit go?
Luckily there are amazing examples of kindness and caring too. People offering to help anyone unable to get to the shops. Sharing what they have. Checking in on people. Offering whatever they can spare. People are also thinking of creative ways to support people in the arts or casuals who have lost hours. This shows how a real community looks after each other. Even if all you can do is take a moment to honestly ask how someone is.
I've had moments this week, sat on the couch engrossed in a tv show, where life seemed completely normal. I stop and catch myself, asking was it's all a weird dream? Did I make this up? It's hard to fathom from the safety of your own home. But beyond the front door is a changed landscape. What it will look like in weeks and months to come we can't guess. Will it highlight inequity in society and make us care and support vulnerable people? Will our schools, aged care and health services be boosted and better resourced? Will casuals have a safety net? Will it make us cherish the chance to hug someone we care about? Will we talk more honestly about how we feel? Will we live life more simply and continue to play games and puzzles, read books, bake and garden? Will we be grateful for art, musicians, theatre, film, cultural institutions and libraries? Is there any chance of a silver lining in the darkest of world events? Will it change us in ways we didn't imagine?
I guess time will tell. But in the meantime, stay strong. Stay healthy. Keep talking and checking in. Keep caring about others. And let me know how you are and if I can help. We're in this together, even if we feel alone.
Photo: @Roxiesunderland (instagram)
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