Luckdown

Today, for the first time in 47 days, I went to the office where I normally worked when things such as normal worked. It broke up the day, in a chain of unbroken days that never were because they were all the same. For that, I suppose, I’m grateful. And, of course, to still have our health and a home and employment.

Other than that, I hated it.

Driving there on a beautiful spring day, the inversion of life hit fully. The world outside the car windows was once (and hopefully will be again) an invitation to explore. Rambling on a hike, finding a beach for a picnic, camping in a field, sitting in a garden for a barbecue. All of these phantom joys to be shared with those we love.

Today, for the first time, the world outside the car windows was a threat. The open road made claustrophobic, confining me like a deposit slip in a vacuum tube. Airless and without agency.

On my way home, I realised one reason why the situation is becoming harder over time. Yes, it’s emotionally difficult, and working from home with three children who are variously engaged in learning and bickering and trying to process this does not make for an easy ride. But we’re both still working, doing more than we would have been doing previously. 7 days a week. In a world where all the joys and tiny restorations that balance the crushing thankless wheel of work have been stolen.

The lockdown so far has shown me how few people and things I care about. And it has shown me how very deeply I care about them.

The growing pressure to send kids back to school — to get people “back to work” — is a fever dream of a system that refuses to die, even when the cost is incalculably high. Each utterance, each feeble articulation of a plan based on calculations removed from facts is a threat against all of us.

The lockdown so far has shown me how few people and things I care about. And it has shown me how very deeply I care about them.