Perspective

At some point in the past I ended up giving my boys a lift to school each morning, and then, more often than not, calling into the supermarket on my way home.  The downside to this was obvious, I was in the supermarket five days a week, the upside? I never had to think much further than the day ahead.  Once they had left school, I did get marginally better at doing a bigger shop but it took lockdown and the 'shop once a week' maxim to really break the habit.  

Now, on a Wednesday night (or sometimes Thursday morning) Alastair and I sit down and work out what we'd like to eat for the next week before constructing a list of the relevant ingredients.  What had a certain novelty to it at first, has long since become a chore and the process of shopping a focal point for the feeling of monotony that is increasingly overwhelming me.

The queue to get into the supermarket may have all but disappeared but it has been replaced with a longer queue to get out, and for whilst I was already of the belief that nothing was going to change any time soon, the regression to local lockdown has brought that reality home with an almost inaudible 'pooooooooooo'. Not a 'bang' or a 'pop' accompanying a bolt out of the blue, more of a seeping realisation, like air slowly escaping from an already deflated balloon.  The point where everything is already a bit rubbish and all I can see is the negative, where the writing of another blog post, the end result of which is to appreciate all that I have, just further compounds the feeling of tedium. I've said it, you've read it - how many more ways can I say the same thing?  But miss a week because I've nothing new to say? How does that work, when I've pledged (albeit only to myself) to write weekly as a sign of commitment to my artistic discipline?

During a quiz my son and girlfriend wrote for my birthday back in April, I was lovingly teased by my family for my Instagram hashtags: #gratitudeattitude #changeyourperspectivechangeyourlife #mindfulnessmatters. All typed with good intent but how many times do I actually put it into practice?  I claim that the drive behind my artwork is to make people think, but am I paying anything more than lip service to those thoughts myself?  The co-existence of the ruminations in my head and 5,122 photographs on my phone would lead anyone to the conclusion that I'm happier documenting a change of focus than applying it.  I may be talking the talk, but there's not much walking being done. (And when there is my head is full with thoughts of how to get a certain new recruit to the pack to walk in a straight line without pulling my shoulder out of joint!)

And so dear reader, I am going to cut myself loose.  It is a month before Alastair returns to work. 30 days of not having to adhere to a routine.  On normal years we spend our holidays seeking out days where time has no meaning and one day drifts into the next, I am not ready to concede that I've reached saturation point with this way of living, when I usually I live for a week of this.  If I feel compelled to write I will, if I don't I won't.  No time limits.  No promises.  No binds.  A holiday at home.  A genuine stay-cation.  A chance to live, laugh, experience, explore, read, think, curl up, rejuvenate, sleep. To live in (and not necessarily document) the moment, to practice what I preach - grateful for the roof over my head and the week's supply of shopping in the fridge.