Stretching our wings for a moment while living in these restricted times.

One of my happiest moments of each day has become my daily swim in the sea.  I have been a regular summer swimmer since I have lived in my seaside town, but to venture into the water when it is chilly has become a new mini adventure.  I never believed those locals who said it was invigorating to dip into the sea while the rest of us are wearing a warm coat (are they mad?!).  Of course, the temperature of the water in September isn't that cold, just cool enough to wake up my body and give a little zing.  But it feels freeing and adventurous for just ten minutes of the day, which at the moment, really matters.

On Sunday, I actually swam next to a cormorant, perched elegantly on a post that stands out from the shore above the tide line.  I remained far enough away so as to not disturb this majestic bird as it gently fluttered its wings.  It stayed there for what seemed like ages, then suddenly opened its enormous wings and showed its full width.  I was speechless (and a little chilly) as I watched while swimming slowly in the slightly choppy sea before I hurried out to warm up in my cosy thermal robe.  The cormorant chooses these kinds of places to perch in order to dry its wings and the dramatic opening  is purely for this process.  But it made me feel like, I too, need to stretch my wings for a moment. 

Maybe stretching our wings (metaphorically) isn't something that has to be extra special, that once in a lifetime trip across Antarctica?  Could it be, that stretching our wings and doing something that inspires us or connects us is actually a necessity, just like the cormorant drying its wings?  But as social restrictions remain in place, we are possibly doing less stretching and more perching than normal.   While I understand the importance of taming the spread of the virus, I am also bursting with frustration and longing to just connect more.  My home, which felt like a safe sanctuary for months, is just beginning to feel more like an enclosure in a well-maintained zoo.  I might just need to break free from the caged walls and burst into life before I start to become one of those animals that pace back and forth along their boundary.

We have all had different phases of the pandemic journey that felt the hardest.  For many, it was the total isolation of lockdown that was the most challenging part.  Others have found the easing of rules and precarious steps out of the house more difficult.  But my greatest struggle is, unexpectedly,  now.  Maybe it is my change in expectations about what September may look like colliding with the reality that is causing my struggle?  On the one hand, there is a sense of more normality returning as schools re-start with a different autumnal rhythm unfolding.  And alongside there is the uncertainty and reinforced rules affecting what we can feasibly do.

And then, as usual, I wonder is it just me who still feels a sense of limitation and being more caged-in than normal?  It takes me just about a millisecond to answer that question, especially as my partner and therefore half of our friends are musicians.  My partner has not done a live concert since lockdown and nor have most of his colleagues.  Music is both a profession and a passion and when I see my partner perform live in a concert, he looks completely at home as if he is in his element, stretching his wings.  Not only are musicians missing their livelihood and purpose in life, many of us are missing that deep connection that comes from being part of an audience and sharing the spirit of music together.

And while we are slowly facing the emotional and economic effects of this pandemic, music is exactly what many of us need to express what simply can't be articulated in words.  How will it be possible in these pandemic times to allow musicians to begin to stretch their wings again and allow the spirit of music to heal?  So when I saw the recent BBC documentary about the Arena di Verona staging their first operatic concert since lockdown in Italy, I was moved to tears.  Their opening concert, in their incredible open air Roman Amphitheatre was dedicated to Italy's health workers.  Hearing Analisa Stroppa perform an aria from the Barber of Seville was so powerful, her voice carrying the depth of emotions for these times that we can resonate with.  While only a small audience were able to attend (with strict social distancing rules in place), this performance was almost a symbol of hope for all of us, that we will find ways to connect together again.

Realising that I need to find a way to stretch my wings for some moments while simultaneously social distancing remains a challenge to consider.  Being an introvert, I have mostly been fairly content with the amount of human interaction I've had in the last months.  It has usually felt like just about enough to cope and stay sane.  Suddenly I long for that community feel from a yoga class with real people, a music concert with the shared energy of a large audience, a bustling coffee shop where I perch on a stool in a corner with my writing book.  The bursting out of my cage feeling, my frustration and longing to be back as part of a community in person again is palpable.  And while this is still out of reach, I am hunting for moments to get this back in a socially distanced, safe kind of manner.  Maybe my cautious approach to venturing out in the world has meant arriving at this point where I need to widen my life just a little more. 

My yoga course group in tree pose (that ended just before the pandemic)

And although I'm longing for that deep sense of connection and community when gathered in large social groups, that same sense of connection can also come from sharing the simple truth of how we feel at the moment and knowing that we are not alone.  I listened to Brene Brown's latest podcast as she shared how September and the next few months may well be the hardest yet as we are still in this "middle" section of the pandemic without a clear ending in sight.  I felt my shoulders relax as my own emotions were validated, even though I sighed wondering again how long this middle section is going to last.  Even if we can't huddle together in group hugs or listen to regular live music in packed audiences, we can still reach out and connect through the heart.  And this kind of stretching our wings, through remaining understanding and kind to ourselves and others, can be done just as regularly as the cormorant drying out his feathers while perched on a post.

 "No matter what the middle is, experience does not give us easy passage through struggle. Experience only grants us a little grace that whispers, “This is a part of the process. Stay the course. Stay the course"  Brene Brown.