"One day more..."

If anyone of you know me well, you'll be bursting into a rousing rendition of Les Miserables' closing number for Act One right about now. If not - now's your chance. Get your Spotify up, type it in and fire away. Nothing like a musical belter to get the blood racing on a Sunday afternoon. Not only an excellent song in its own right, this melody has also become something of a backdrop to my life. A mantra to live by in these strangest of strange times. "One. Day. More."...

I think I was optimistic at the beginning of this escapade. "I'll lose weight, get fit, and my skin will look glorious! Self-care heaven here we come...". Sadly, as the days and weeks have worn on that optimism has been dialled down from a sunny-side up attitude, to cold acceptance warmed by comfort food and now just plain old 'getting through the day'. With a gin at the end of the week for good measure.

I am sure I am not alone. (This is the time for camaraderie, even at a healthy distance). There was something manageable in the first leg this hobbling race. Something tangible about '3 weeks' and a crate of wine. But now, as we move into a period in which there is not a soul who knows what's going on, what tomorrow will bring, or what next month will look like, and that seems infinitely harder to handle. But, don't get me wrong - I am not one of those gloomy-lidded harbingers of pessimism who makes devastating pronouncements such as 'life will never be the same again'. Yes - it will be. It will be just the same as before, and in fact I have every hope that it will be better. We will hold those people dearer whom we missed so much through this all, and we will value as so much richer those human experiences that brought us closer to other people, and not merely to other things.

That's not to say I won't be partaking of retail therapy, wine tastings or spa days when this is all over. I will be, for sure. But I will also try (or at least, the better version of myself will try) to make time for the people and processes in my life that bring me true joy, not merely surface level smile. That's what I have hope for. And on the good days - on the sunny days, on the smile-at-your-londond-neighbours-even-if-it-gives-them-the-creeps days - that hope fills me with lightness. It makes my 'commute' upstairs that little less 'dig your heels in' and a bit more 'you've got this'. Those days take me back the heady days of March 19th when I knew we would get through this.

But then there are the other days. The grey inside and outside days. The days where clawing your way to your desk feels just a step too far. The days where you just want to do something. Anything. Go to the cinema. The theatre. The park. The museum. The gallery. The pub. The restaurant. Anywhere. Everywhere. But you can't. And that word can be such a wicked thing to wrestle with. Not won't. Not couldn't. But can't. Its presence and its immediacy halt you in your tracks.

But I guess I want whoever is reading to realise - like you almost definitely already do, and I know I'm preaching to the converted, but it's not like this blog has got a wide enough audience to preach to anyone who isn't also already my friend - but I just wanted you to realise that we're all feeling like this. Our good days are surprisingly good, and we shouldn't feel guilty for that. Just because there are people who are going through more difficult times than us right now, doesn't mean we can't celebrate good days. It just means we have to use that goodness wisely, and be there for any of our friends whose good days have gone away for a while.

Be there for those whom this virus is affecting more directly and devastatingly than you. Use your goodness like an ointment. Or, more topically, a vaccine. But the difference is this vaccine is made by you. Which means it's ready to go with immediate effect. And if you give out your goodness and happiness as readily and freely as you possibly can, then you know you've got a cheque ready to cash whenever your grey days come calling again.

If this is starting to feel a little self-righteous (which is definitely something I'm starting to fear, as I've ceased physical communication with everyone except my housemates), then know that I am writing this more as a message to myself, than to anyone else. But hey-ho - if it brings a bit more light and colour into the world for the time being, then once more my friends and followers have proven themselves better humans than I, by doing goodness without having to write great long blog-posts about the idea of it.

I apologise that this post isn't particularly funny, although I hope it is filled with a glimmer of light. These are in many ways 'dark' times - and darker for some than others. Those with physical or emotional hardships that the current situation exacerbates, and those who have felt the virus' effects directly and cruelly. I hope you know that what little goodness I have, if you need it it's yours! And I will write something attempting to be funny again soon, that I can promise you. Whether it achieves its objective - well that is something no one can guarantee.

In the meantime, soak up the sun, and keep calling, skyping, zooming and whatsapping everyone you know, reaching out to those who you know a little less well than you'd like to, and getting to know yourself as well.

Lots of (self-isolating) love xxx

p.s. I do feel somewhat as if this period has morphed me into a plant. Bear with me on this...the more sunshine I get, the more I 'photosynthesise' and the more chance I have to blossom...all the more reason to store up that goodness and happiness today, as next week is set to be a windy, wet one.