When did you last receive a letter in the post?
I remember how excited I would be when an envelope landed on the doormat, the address handwritten and the stamp a real sticker, not a grim franking machine automation. As life, and technology stretched out before me, I wrote less and less. These days a note to my son’s PE teacher asking for excusal from games due to sore eyebrow or whatever, is as far as I venture in the letter writing field. I owe thanks to my friend Giulia, for starting a virtual letter swap in these strange times. It is an opportunity to check-in with ourselves and our feelings and to share the burden of uncertainty. Here’s my letter to you, with love …
Dear Friend,
Nothing has changed; it seems so sometimes; I have freshly brewed coffee, ink in my pen, and that much underrated gift of solitude. I quietly go about my day, as I usually do, punctuating it with more hand washing than has been the norm. Then I go for a walk ... alone. I often used to go alone, listening to a podcast, or an audio book, but it was always a choice. Now I do not have the luxury of choice; I cannot step out with a friend, chatting, laughing and gaining comfort from a fond smile, or an attentive tilt of the head.
Therein lies the difference.
As change has swept over our world and fear has infiltrated the air we breathe, we are now alone, through our unity. We are assiduously washing our hands, keeping our distance, and staying home as much as possible, (barring the occasional loo roll top-up when our collection falls below double figures). We watch the news and listen to the death count, mourning those who have died, and fearing for those who might. We forget to count those who have recovered.
In these days of uncertainty, I feel the need to sweep up waves of calm and wrap them around me like a blanket. Keeping up our sacred rituals of self-care is what will soothe and calm our souls: the lit candle, the quiet cup of tea whilst gazing out of the window, absorbing the magic of emerging blossoms of Spring. Doing anything that is meditative for me, is the calm exhale, anything that smoothes the rough tide of confusion, anxiety, and guilt. I say guilt, because when you work from home, when you are comfortable in your own world, when your day to day has not changed significantly, you feel the accusing glare of your own privilege.
“I must not hope to be ever situated as you are, in the midst of every dearest connection, and therefore I cannot expect that simply growing older should make me indifferent about letters”
I am struggling to write this letter, because I am frozen by the possibility of saying all the wrong things; knowing that everyone is experiencing their own version of uncertainty in these times, that so much could be read into words, renders me almost speechless. Yes, the earth does appear to be healing, people are expressing their altruism in abundance, people are helping each other, creativity is rife as everyone strives to construct a new existence, a new way of living today. As people fight over loo roll, they are also watching over the vulnerable, running errands to help, and assisting in any way they can.
I wonder, what is our new future going to look like? I envisage a shift in perceptions, in what working life looks like, maybe what teaching looks like? I still hear the birds sing, children from the same families playing in the garden (those lucky enough to have one), and bottles clinking in the recycling bins. Wafts of Sunday roasts drift along the cobbles of middle-class back alleys, mingling with the teak oil of refreshed decking. Will we become a nation of exquisite gardens? Will we become a nation of revival? Of people who have reconnected with each other, with their creativity, and the joys of home cooking? Will we have fostered the gift of gratitude that takes us down the path of loving our immediate surroundings, of appreciating life, and of discovering the calming practice of making do? I sincerely hope so.
Wishing you the very best of health, peace and positivity. This will pass, this will leave scars, but I hope the balm of humankind soothes the roughest of edges, and smoothes the meandering, unpredictable path ahead.
Stay safe, stay well, stay home
Love
Teresa xxx
This letter was written in response to and inspired by Giulia’s (of Giulia Writes) #virtualletterswap series. If you’d like to read Giulia’s letter and join in too, you can find details in her blog post or her beautiful Instagram account @giuliawrites
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