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Covid-19 has put a spotlight on could-a, would-a, and should-a, the handmaidens of guilt. Six months ago, when everything changed, limitless opportunities opened up. Let's posit a grace period of, say, three weeks, when we were adjusting to the lack of routine and the loss of schedules. But after that period, surely it was time to pull ourselves together and make good use of this unprecedented gift of time.
Some people took action immediately. Took advantage of on-line classes to learn Mandarin, for example, to study art history, to take up the guitar at last. I know a woman who has researched, chosen, and distributed online a poem every day, along with an equally carefully researched photo or art piece to accompany the poem. Every day. I can't imagine the dedication required. A neighbour used this time to build (with the help of a contractor) a new deck and pergola overlooking the ravine behind his house.
In my own case I actually contemplated opening the lid of my abandoned piano just to depress the keys in no particular order or, even scarier, to take out a piece of music and devote myself to learning it. Re-learning it. I was able to withstand this temptation and the lid has remained quietly closed.
But what an opportunity this would have been to re-learn French. Once I knew the language. In fact, I taught it for eight years. But that ended in 1968, and it's now been more than fifty years since I gave any thought to irregular verbs.
If I'd applied myself, I could have knitted half a dozen sweaters since March. I could have sewn an entire new wardrobe. Now wait! This last wouldn't have been possible because no fabric stores were open for the first three or four months of the pandemic, and I have carefully (thank you, Marie Kondo) whittled my fabric stash down to small lengths that were perfect for mask-making but not at all useful for sewing a new wardrobe.
So here I am, ruing the fruitless passage of all that time. I could have been busybusybusy, making progress on so many fronts. This is where the Guilt Sisters come in: could-a, would-a, should-a. But invoking them is just a reflex action. I think I should bring them in. But I don't really feel that way. I feel liberated. Free from having to produce in order to prove my worth. My take-away from these six months is a new-found indolence that transcends guilt. I am content to do nothing.
Not nothing at all, but nothing compared to how I lived for most of my life. Now, at the end of a day, I look back and see my tiny but sufficient accomplishments. I got up, washed, and dressed. I drank my chocolate tea while reading the Globe. I made the bed. I sewed a few masks. I prepared our brunch/lunch. I watered the back yard (that's five minutes right there), and I planned dinner. In the early afternoon I took a walk and then I read for the rest of the afternoon, until 4:30, when it was time to start dinner.
This pretty much describes my workday. On Friday and Saturday I did three or four loads of laundry, hanging the clothes out on the line to dry.
The highlight of each day—the great difference from my past—was the moment when I would boldly take a book and sit on the deck and read. No apologies. Just going outside to read for the rest of the day.
I am not under any hardship. I have learned a new way to live. And I won't ever be going back to my days of endless lists and productivity. I'm saying bye-bye to the handmaidens of guilt.
Musings blog: http://www.scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com
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