The Side-Eye on thriver's guilt

Thrivers’ Guilt during the lockdown.

This is awful, isn’t it? We can barely leave our homes, we can only dream of restaurants or clothes shops. Remember pubs? Department stores, weren’t they nice? Wouldn’t you love to go out for the night, get on a plane or stay with other people? Normal life (markets! parties! impromptu chats at the school gates, the chance of someone popping in for a coffee) has receded like the tide. It’s all awful.

Well no, it isn’t actually. Oh, I’ll happily parrot all the right things, if you insist on Zooming me (it’s so so awful!). But to be honest – and aside from gratitude to health workers, sadness at the deaths, wanting to see my parents and worry about the impending economic apocalypse - my main emotion during this strange and awful time has been relief. Finally, the world has slowed down to my ideal pace. Where others feel starved of company and contact, I am completely comfortable with the enforced solitude. Secretly I feel that this is life as it should be, small and slow and contained. Rushing about was the aberration, not the norm. I’ve been practicing for this all my life.

See, I’ve never had FOMO but I’ve always had hobbies. I’m never bored of me, but other people can really do my head in. As a proud introvert, my ideal day consists of pottering about at home. I need lashings of tea, a plethora of cats, books to read and to write, seed catalogues to peruse when I’m having my stand-up lunch for one by the fridge door. I need beautiful vintage eBay finds arriving on my doorstep but comfy clothes to loll about it. I hatch thoughts when pricking out seedlings in the greenhouse, and book plots resolve themselves as I attempt DIY framing of interesting old magazine covers. I’m used to making bread. I like working from home. If I listen to music, I invariably choose something instrumental. Who needs all those voices when you could chat with your own fascinating self?

When I used to work in an office my Friday nights were sacrosanct; absolutely necessary downtime to replenish after a week of hectic interaction. Silent Fridays are still my own personal Sabbath; minimal interaction, maximum bath and face mask. My outgoing, sociable husband desperately misses his Friday night pints. I miss them too, as it guaranteed that he wouldn’t be home trying to chat to me as I sit with cucumbers on my eyes in the darkened bathroom. Friends know not to call. Back when we used to go to each other’s houses, those familiar with my shut-in tendencies would roll their eyes when someone (invariably an exhausting extrovert) would suggest a Friday get-together. I like to believe that my dearest think of it as an adorable quirk. It’s not you (really, it’s not), it’s me.

Blessed are the introverts, for they know how to maintain their equilibrium during a global crisis. Blessed are the extroverts and the ambiverts too – we’ll need your energy and desperation to interact when all this is over. But when you’re all back hugging and touching and chatting all around the clock, maybe you’ll remember that the slow life has always been the ideal pace for some of us. Now, is it time for my solo walk?

Jenny Coyle, May 2020.