Spacious Solidarity Blog: Day 31
My partner has a really disturbing habit of waking up screaming in the middle of the night. Last night was particularly bad, as they also inadvertently punched me in the ribs. Of course, as always, they are straight back to sleep and I’m left awake, staring at the ceiling, my body flushed with adrenaline.
I wake up in the morning to the swish-whir of the street cleaner. It reminds me of a time I was teaching meditation, encouraging people to trust in the power of the imagination to help us shift resistance to unpleasant experience.
We were sitting in a packed shrine room in the northern quarter of Manchester on a hot summer evening. The windows were wide open. In the middle of the guided practice a street cleaner came by.
Afterwards a student reported that at first he’d found the sound of the street cleaner really annoying. It was distracting him from his experience! But then he decided to imagine that instead of a street cleaner, it was wind blowing through trees in a forest. All of a sudden he found the sound deeply relaxing, even enjoyable.
I smile at the memory of such a perfect example of a re-frame. I re-commit to acts of creative re-framing during coronavirus.
Over coffee I check the news. Trump has announced he’s defunding the World Health Organisation. During a pandemic. I decide I need to stop looking at the news first thing in the morning. There is no way to re-frame that one.
I spend the morning on Zoom again and in the afternoon we’re back out for a walk. This time a long one to London Fields, around the park, and back home again.
On the way, a jogger runs so close to me I can feel his breath on my neck. Like a person with tourette’s I can’t help but yell out “What the fuck!?” but he can’t hear me because he’s got headphones on.
I am livid. I glare at the back of him and take in as many details as I can before he disappears out of view. Tall, white, late 20s, possibly early 30s, thick, light brown hair, Umbro t-shirt.
My partner has to work hard to calm me down. I’m breathing deeply and feeling into the sensation of my feet against the pavement. I am rehearsing everything I would like to say to that man and how I’d like to say it. My partner tells me when we get to the park we can find him and tell him what for. But that doesn’t make me feel any better.
When we are just about to reach the park we see the man, jogging back the way he came. I take a deep breath and tell myself I can do this. It is possible to communicate anger without being angry. I wave him down.
He slows his pace, pulls out his earbuds and looks at me with confusion on his face. As calmly, softly and slowly as I can, I begin:
“I need you to be more careful. Go wide and keep your distance when running past others.”
He looks horrified and begins apologizing profusely. He’s so sorry, he hadn’t seen us until it was too late. I thank him for apologising and reiterate that he needs to be more careful. I tell him that his coming close has made me feel anxious. He apologises again, smiles and runs off.
My partner is waiting for me on the other side of the road. They say they were ready to have my back but when they saw I had the situation well in control they let me get on with it. They say they somehow knew we’d see him again.
I’m pleased with myself. I hope he will take my feedback and change his behavior.
We enter the park and start heading towards the lido, like horses to the trough. Even though I know its closed, I still need to make my pilgrimage. Seeing the shuttered doors brings tears to my eyes. Summer’s been officially closed.
We’ve been self-isolating for exactly a month, in lockdown for three and a half weeks, and things don’t seem to be getting any better. They are saying the government will be announcing an extension tomorrow.
About halfway through our walk we decide to lay down under a blossom tree. Nearby three friends run into each other. I overhear their conversation, a window into life under lockdown for the 20-something white male.
First they are commenting on how strange it is to see people in the flesh and have a real, live conversation. Then it’s about how they’ve all started growing mustaches and sharing tips on how to trim them.
One of them works on a film set and has been furloughed. He’s one of the lucky ones, as he’s still low down enough in the film industry pecking order to be put on the payroll, rather than working as an independent contractor. He’s doing fine on 80% of what he usually earns because he doesn’t have anything to spend his money on, like going to the pub and out to gigs.
He’s living with his mom. It’s unclear whether this is a new arrangement since lockdown. He wishes he’d bought a bench and a press earlier as now they’re hard to get online. Regardless, he’s managing to lift weights. If he can get two good things out of this it’s going to be finishing his album and getting ripped.
Next they’re talking about “linking” with girls during the lockdown. This is a term I am not familiar with but it doesn’t take long for me to figure out it is a stage in a young person’s dating ritual.
Now they’re giving one another tips on how to make homemade masks. The best one is the laziest. Simply turn an eye mask upside down and wear it over your mouth. I have to keep from laughing out loud at that one.
As they part I hear one of them say “big love”. My heart softens. I’m going to be using that one.
As I’ve been ear hustling, dandelion seeds have been floating by, filling the sky above me. Now I focus in on them, moving slowly and softly through the air. I imagine they’re angels looking down at me from heaven. I ask them for protection before deciding it’s time to head home.
Back at home I’m on a two hour Zoom mtg and then it’s time for dinner. My partner has made the most delicious Mexican. For the rest of the evening they’ve got counseling clients and I’m writing and catching up with a friend on Skype.
It’s 10pm before I notice the washing up still needs doing. I assure my partner I’ll do it in the morning, but we both know that they’ll be up before me and probably get it done before I’ve had my morning coffee.
I tell them that if it comes to pass, they should at least leave me the pots and pans. We briefly weigh the pros and cons of having the window open, decide on open, and knock off to sleep.