The snow day was kind of fun. People in the park made snowmen and huge snowballs and snow monsters. Kids on sledges squealed as the parents - or dogs - dragged them along. Rosy cheeks and smiles. Gloved hands caked in powdery snow. A strange break from lockdown. Not quite ice-skating on the Thames, but beggars can't be choosers.
A bit of adverse weather, said one older lady, cheers everyone up. Especially children and dogs.
But then next day I had to drive to London. It was -3 when I tried to get in my car. I couldn't open the driver's door as it was frozen shut and the passenger door took serious yanking. I was scared for miles, sure I'd lose control and tail spin. Trying to remember which way to turn. Wanted to call my dad but I couldn't wake Siri. He's gone AWOL. I felt the horrible post-adrenaline surge at work and the same when I finally got home, via collecting the dog from a maze of seemingly snow covered streets.
The guided meditation I started with, before chasing a client from whom I need scripts if I'm ever going to voice the show and before returning to Call My Agent (a good recommendation - already on Series 2. I'll have finished it all by the weekend), directed me to say 'I am' on the inhale and 'here' on the exhale. I was so glad to be home. Cats on my lap and the dog on the sofa next to me, whining to be stroked or tickled or something. So I did a further 20 minutes without the guide, thinking, 'I am here and I'm glad to be here and I'm safe and I'm not alone. Surely my brain will be calm.'
It was pretty calm. But what I noticed was that the I who was here was not the I I usually am, but just, well, like an eye. A window... a perspective... a particular aspect of consciousness. Much of the time, it's painted in with my personal 'I', but here it was just an eye.
It was a pleasant escape from the I who is a bit lonely and missing contact - eye-contact and physical contact. The presence of the creatures is a blessing. And the lady up the road to whom I told my driving adventure as I delivered the potatoes and cabbage - there's more than I can eat in my organic delivery boxes and her and her husband like the things I don't - it's worked out well for the last ten months. And my dad who said, yes, he does still love me. And my colleagues at work and my good car who transported me safely.
And Netflix - au revoir!
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