Trees that we are

We have been through the worst but here we are.
Remaining unwavering and radiant, the object of envy,
we have been through the best and here we are-
trees, standing apart but under the same swaying canopy.
Our roots have grown coupled,
exchanging and sustaining, our tendrils bound
but separate. Breathing ethers,
swapping nutrients underground.
We warn each other of insect attacks and burrowing grubs,
of sharp beaks and drought.
Of fallow times and fires and of shelters built by Scouts,
and of fallen neighbours' weight.
Seasons change, time will pass, everything will pass,
but not you.
My youth and my buds, the seeds I should miss,
but I don't, for you.

As storms whip and bend inflexible friends,
and peeling bark and cracking branches drop to the forest floor,
as every shade of green swirls and circles,
we are tethered to each other, to the earth, moored.
It takes fellows to make a tree grow, they say,
no tree flowers alone, they say,
a tree breathes and shares and signals, they say.
Its rips and traumas reinforce and reassure
its solidity and its mass and its yielding
heft that surrenders to being weathered
and fatigued but remains cathedral in stature,
a sanctuary, a shelter, protection.

We bloom and we thrive together,
our wellspring mingling,
unsingling, united. Being
impermanent, fated to decay,
means we foster our growth,
and create our future.
I now know how to think,
with you I am home.

Loneliness in times of Covid-19

I regularly remind myself how privileged I am. Almost daily I thank pure, simple luck- because meritocracy has very little to do with it- that I am healthy, have clean water, available food and a roof over my head. I also thank pure, simple luck that I have advantages as a middle-aged, white, male. I am very aware of the entitlements this affords me and try to use my position to help others when I can.
But these are comparisons with other people. And they can be shallow. My experience is my experience and my subjective feelings are deep and affecting. Irrresepctive of my luck at having food or shelter or clean water, if I am lonely then I am lonely, if I am sad then I am sad. And the experience of others doesn't come into it. I am also astutely aware, from personal as well as evidence-based professional experience, that having had previous mental health issues such as traumatic grief or social anxiety would place me at higher risk of feeling lonely and isolated and at increased risk of those mental health issues returning.
I have felt lonely, on and off, for much of my life. This has occasionally dovetailed into bouts of depression. I have had friends of course and have not spent much time alone although I have always enjoyed my own company- many years playing alone with Lego as my personality was growing as a child meant that my own company holds no fear for me, I enjoy being by myself. But lonliness is different.
Loneliness is an emotional disconnection from others as oppossed to being alone, the physical distancing from others. We can feel lonely even when we are around other people (my life-long Achilles heal), even around the people we are supposed to feel closest to and most supported by. We can feel lonely in a crowd, at work, when sitting at the dinner table with our loved and loving family and among our closest friends.
This is how the Corona virus lockdown has affected me so far- the loneliness. I can manage not seeing adults for days at a time, I can manage (with difficulty) being away from feeling useful at work, I can manage (also with some difficulty and not without guilt) "working" from home and feeling professionally unproductive, I can manage most new stressors that the lockdown proves to me.
But the disconnectedness I feel is not the distancing I am in control of. It has not been my choice to create space in my relationships, it isn't my choice to stand metres away from strangers and act as if a deadly virus is present in the very air surrounding them, it isn't my choice to stop hugging my friends. The forced imposition, reinforced with vague ideas of being a pariah, have echoes of when Ruby died nearly seven years ago (few people really understand how it feels to lose their child hence the feelings of being an outcast)- the social isolaton and the disconnect was strong and deep, then as it is now. At that time, as now, there was a persistent feeling that nothing is happening but that something is about to happen (and never does). Like soldiers in a trench I waited, and I wait, and nothing happens. I don't really know what I am waiting for but I know I need to wait- what else am I going to do?
To feel lonely is to feel a particularly odd type of "aloneness". To feel on your own when you are walking among crowds of people or when you are chatting over dinner with your family or when you are at the office, talking to colleagues and working through problems, has an inhuman air, an unfamiliarity with normal human interaction. There is not only psychic space between you and others but also the feeling that you are not of their kind, that your language is different, that your history and culture cannot be understood, that although your planet is shared you are an alien. Feeling lonely is not to feel misunderstood but to feel that you cannot be understood.
I am busy all day, every day. I am home-schooling my son which, according to other parents, takes between no time at all because their children refuse to be any part of it and many hours a day. Tom and I spend up to five hours a day on this, including breaks and play. In the afternoon we usually include, at Tom's insistence, a walk of eight to twelve kilometeres along the sea or around the surrounding streets and hills. In between Tom's schooling I fit in work emails and phone calls and I attend my office each Friday for an unrelentingly busy day assisting people in crisis after crisis. Also during the day, and some evenings, I try to focus on some bicycle repair work (I recently reached an ambition of qualifying as a bicycle mechanic and was trying to drum up work before the virus hit. My yearly plan, such as it is, was to be a mechanic working from home part-time and also work part-time as a nurse, my career of over twenty years). Claire, my wife, works full-time as the manager of a local Community Mental Health Team for the NHS and she works late every day, every week. There are relatives and friends to keep and eye on, our weekends are precious and we fill them with time together.
I have almost no time to myself. This contributes to feeling lonely, as I am sure it would for many people with little space for themselves, in a similar way to feelings of loneliness resulting from being alone and without company. So what am I to do?

I am formulating a plan. To help reduce my lonliness I will try to:

-Have more time to myself but, crucially, at my control to do as I wish. In all honesty this will probably involve simply sitting around reading a book but that's OK too- that's my decision, that's my book, that's me being in control of my actions.
-Cycle and run regularly. For many parents, the "lockdown" isn't the free time to catch up on box sets and piles of books that some other people are doing- there simply isn't time- and I am not cycling on my commute as I used to three days a week. I need to set time aside to do this (I jumped out of bed early today to get in a cycling sprint before Claire needed to leave for work).
-Read more.
-Focus on letting go of things that are out of my control.Considering my profession and the years of experience I have working in the mental health field I would often consider the profound importance of recognising what is, and isn't, in our individual control. To disregard our chains and to master autonomy is one key to a good life.
-Keep an eye on problems I have had in the past- grief, depression, social anxiety- and make some changes to my thoughts and behaviours if needs be.
-Regularly remind myself, until I believe it, that I am contributing to Tom's education and development and that being a teacher to him here at home is, in a tangible sense, instrumental to the shortening of this crisis. It is common to feel that we do not contribute during a crisis, whether relating to Corona virus, a car accident, ill-heath or otherwise, but on closer inspection this is often far from the truth. The most useful people to have around you when in crisis- and through my work I have seen numerous overdoses, victims of violence, cardiac arrests and potentially traumatic crises- are the least dramatic people, those who stop, think and act (instead of reacting in the immediate) and people whose behaviour is guided by reason and evidence, not Facebook or wilful ignorance and superstition. Those quiet, calm people standing to one side without interuption, the ones who wait for you to catch their eye for assistance and who keep peripheral stimulus to a minimum, the ones who calm the neighbours- they are the ones you want by your side. I have to regularly remind myself that to keep Tom educated, calm, stimulated and secure is pragmatic and most helpful for him and others.


If I was a slightly different person, or in different social circumstances, I might also:

-Mention how I feel to other people. Everyone has their story and can share useful, supportive advice (this is not a cliche- EVERYONE has their own ideas and positive behaviours to share)
-Try to connect with others, preferably new people via existing friends or the online community through mental heath apps or websites connected to my interests.
-Cull my social media of people and sites that are not only knowingly detrimental to my mental health but are also not entirely positive and supportive (I regularly do this anyway and strongy recommend it)
-Be active, preferably outside, be among trees and natural places. Practice good sleep preparation. Reduce my alcohol (I don't drink for this exact reason).
-Online or telephone therapy, preferably Cognitive Behavioural Therapy which is not only extremely successful but lends itself well to telephone contact.
-Do more things I enjoy. I may use this time in lockdown to watch all those old Japanese samurai movies, romcoms and classic horror films I've been promising myself over the years. Also, see: pile of unread novels including a J.G.Ballard 3000-page collection of short stories, Margaret Atwood trilogies, eight new first-time writers and 20 unread poetry collections.
-Try other creative activities. I don't often feel as if I have time to try embroidery, or ceramics, or making masks, or making brooches and jewellery. But I would love to try.
-Plan. I find routine equally essential and boring but, if I was only a slightly different person, it is likely I would find solace in sameness and that I would appreciate a known plan for each day, week and month.
-Try to be good to myself. Be calm, take my time, consider being the person I would want to be friends with.

The Forest

I inhale and I am charged
By the woods breathing on me,
And by the trees allowing me
Their carapace,
As if I were a shield bug chasing caterpillars,
Scuttling in leaf-litter and
Mountaineering the oak roots and
Hilly seed pods
As I chase my youth.

I hover and glide like a Stag beetle
Buoyed by hot asphalt and
A thousand greens.
The forest brings me to it,
Assimilating my salty mass
With sodden lichen and the swish
Of enveloping arms, a sure embrace
Which I let take me.

My breathing slows
And my pace slows
And I slowly close
My eyes and detect the forests'
Weight swathe me.
The birds are indisputabley seductive
And there is no wrong in the world.

The World Inside Wants None of This

They say you grieve because you loved,
Well I am grieving my streets and my trees.
I am craving the swish of the too-tall gumtree,
And the roughness of the rusted seaside handrail.
The electrical box and its' danger of death,
The weak Americano slurped with seagulls.
I miss the stench of cowshit
And the electric jolt of cornflowers.
I miss the threat of hail
And the March freshness needling my face.
I want to see if the lawn at number 37 is snooker tabled,
And the hedge at 72 is at ninety degrees.

Waiting is work and work's goals ridicule me,
and the intrinsic enoughness of play eludes me.
I have a limbic anxiety-
A predator is on the prowl,
Maybe watching, maybe not,
Maybe there, waiting for the right time to pounce, or not.
I am grieving how I used to play with time-
Let it flow and it will pass,
Or impede its' progress and ripples
Would reverberate an impression.
Or I could agree a target and fire an arrow,
I held sway, time was mine.
The world outside is over there
And the world inside wants none of this right now.