not normal

Steps walked: 8897.

Furthest point travelled: 0.5 miles. Jog in Pymmes Park.

Face to face non-household interactions: 1 (my social life is saying hello to delivery drivers).

Track of the day: ‘Love Minus Zero’ – Bob Dylan.

            I’ve had quite a lot of phone conversations with members of the congregation over the past forty-eight hours. Over and again people have looked forward to the time, ‘When everything returns to normal’; I’ve said it myself a few times, and felt a slight sense of regret each time.

The very first word of the phrase is uncertain enough – when? How long, O Lord? I think the fact that the return to some kind of normal will be experienced at different times, to different degrees, by different sections of the population, is going to make the sense of isolation even deeper for those who will be among the last to ‘return’.

            What normal might look like is similarly inscrutable. I guess it’s easiest to think of some of the things we want to regain which have been lost to us. I look forward to being able to see people and speak with them directly when they need a bit of support, rather than praying down the phone. I look forward to going out for a meal. I look forward to going out just for the sake of going out. Haircut!

            But I hope that as we stumble our way back towards normal, we’re able to take with us some of the things we’ve discovered in this time of abnormality and estrangement from business as usual.

            I’ve just got back from a jog in the park. There were times when as simple a thing as a jog could be a fraught experience, as so many people were heedless of one another. The walkers four abreast on the path, who weren’t going to move an inch for anyone. The cyclist who would swerve across you, too fast, too close. Indeed the joggers, so wired in to their soundtrack and their lap time, that they seemed oblivious to the people all around them. Generally speaking, I think it’s safe to say that all that’s changed for now. We notice one another. We notice one another very carefully. I reckon I’ve added about 25% to my usual circuit length, just with all the jibbing and gybing I have to do just to keep the regulation two metres away from the others. It’s a shame that it’s fear that’s got us so attentive to one another’s presence, but it would be a good thing if something of that mutual attentiveness could remain.

            We’re all much more connected in our separation. I’m absolutely hopeless at keeping up with friends and family. I’m still fairly hopeless, but getting better. We’re phoning, and Skyping, and WhatsApping each other like never before. Bonds are being strengthened, because face to ugly face with the fragility of life, we are waking up and remembering the relationships which give life its meaning.

            As well as remembering how much we value the people in our own little lives, we’re also recognising anew who we need to really value in our society; that rarely noticed army of carers and cleaners, doctors and delivery drivers, nurses and nurseries. The Thursday night applause for the NHS staff and so many others is a wonderful thing to see and hear each week. Let’s hope there’s as much enthusiasm for their value when we’re next asked to think about what sort of government we want, what sort of society we want to live in, and what we’re prepared to pay for it.

            When we return to normal, I hope that in some ways we don’t.

            So, that’s enough for this evening. Bit preachy tonight. Haven’t been out much.

            Not for one moment has it occurred to me, that rather than sitting in my back garden, I should be hunkered down in The Plough in Town Yetholm, engaging in that glorious pastime much lauded by my good friend Fr Paul Taylor – ‘supping.’