Time together and time alone

At some point, perhaps, I'll write a post that has nothing to do with covid-19, or lockdown, or the strangeness of 2020. But not yet. There is still too much to say on the subject, still too much to process and try and make sense of.

Over recent months our experience of human contact and interaction has, for the most part, been completely transformed. Normality, as we once knew it, has been turned on its head. Things we didn't perhaps even realise were part of who we are and how we relate to the world and one another have been stripped away or called into question. 

And in that space, perhaps, some of us, have learned something about what we want and need from ourselves and from those around us. As the months of lockdown have dragged on, I have found myself with contradictory cravings: for more time together and more time alone.

I am an extrovert. There is no question of this and I come out strongly as such on all sorts of personality tests. People who know me will not be surprised. 

I have been exploring and to varying degrees living community life for the last nine years. Our life at Carrs Lane is a highly peopled one with people coming and going and sometimes staying all the time. Almost 600 people have passed through the doors of the flat in the last seven years and, while some have been but fleeting visitors, with many we have built sustained relationships. 

I have always had people-orientated jobs which place human relationship at the very centre of their raison d'etre.

It is, perhaps, unsurprising that since March I have craved  more real human contact. And yet, despite my desire for human relationship I can identify a certain lethargy which has meant the reality of how well I have kept up contact with friends and family may not quite have lived up to my intentions. I am extremely grateful for the technology which has made maintaining relationships possible: but, like many of us I can also acknowledge its limitations. It is also a very long time since I have gone so long without encountering anyone new and while I value the existing relationships I have, this too feels like a gap. 

So yes, I was more than ready for the easing of lockdown which has gradually allowed more real human encounters to become possible. I am very grateful for the ways in which, through the summer, that has been the case. Opportunities to meet up with family and friends; re-establishing face-to-face meetings with the Stories of Hope and Home group: these have been very good things.

What has been, perhaps, more surprising, even to myself is that, in a strange way, through this lockdown time, I have also found myself craving time alone. It has taken more self-reflection to identify and acknowledge this to be the case and think about why. 

I suppose I have come to realise that while human contact has been extremely limited, that which has existed has had a certain intensity to it. Ours won't have been the only household thrown together much more intensely than we are used to. While the blurring of boundaries between work and not-work between home-space and work-space have long been blurred in my life, lockdown has intensified the challenges of delineating both time and space. 'Switching off' (perhaps literally!) and 'getting away' (not literally!) have felt more difficult when the same physical and virtual spaces are places of both work and relaxation. The prevalence of virtual gatherings has also brought an intensity to our human interactions which is very different to "real" face-to-face encounters, as 'host' in many of these spaces, that is perhaps especially so.

Whatever the reasons, I have discovered in myself a need for, and appreciation of time alone, even in the midst of my cravings to return to the days when I can surround myself with friends (and strangers). Through the summer I have also been grateful for opportunities to meet this need. I have recently returned (not quite as recently as when I started writing this post) from a wonderful two days in the peak district entirely on my own and if I didn't entirely manage to switch off from digital communication, I did better than I can usually manage at home.

I have no intention of universalising my experience, although at least one conversation with someone else has suggested I am not alone in living with the paradox of these contradictory feelings. I am sure we will each have experienced the challenges of this time differently, and as we emerge into the so-called "new normal" will be seeking different things in response to the challenges we have experienced and needs we have identified. Perhaps understanding and acknowledging our own needs and responses, and really listening as others do the same will help us all to be kind to one another, and ourselves, as we try to transition towards the months ahead.

Lockdown highlights

OK, I admit ... parts of the last few months have been pretty tough. I know the same is true for many people who have been dealing with both global and personal crises.  

Knowing that there are lots of other people who have it far worse has, at times, helped me to have a sense of perspective. But it isn't always helpful either ... because if you're having a bad day, feeling guilty about it because you "shouldn't be" does not, I can attest, make it any better.

A better strategy, for me at least, has been to focus on and recall the good stuff. The gratitude diary I kept in the early weeks of lockdown certainly helped. 

As we at least partially emerge form lock-down, I thought I'd look back and pick out a few of the positives of this strange and unsettling time we are living through, focusing specifically on those things which have not only been positive during lockdown but which (probably) wouldn't have happened without it. 

In no particular order, here are five which came to mind:

1) Cycling confidence 

I've owned a bike for years. It has cluttered up the hallway in the flat ever since we moved here, but been used very rarely. And then the city closed down around us. Public transport use was banned or at least strongly discouraged. And we were only allowed out for an hour a day. On foot, you can't get very far in that time, so if I wanted to get beyond the city centre I was going to have to get my bike out. That motivation, coupled with empty streets which definitely boosted how safe I felt, was what I needed to get back on my bike. I am so glad I have. I have really enjoyed getting out and about on my bike and, now that my confidence, and the habit, is established, my hope and intention is it is something I will continue with.

2) New ways of praying together

The routine of daily prayer I am committed to at Carrs Lane is of great value to me. I have tried, and often failed, to explain why and how many times. One of the things, though, which at times has been a struggle, is not being able to find ways to really share it with others. There is something very special about committing to a routine of prayer. There is also something very special about knowing you are praying with others. As the decision was made to lock the doors to the building, we needed to find new ways to continue this aspect, the being open to praying with others part which has always mattered to us. Cue live-streamed prayers on facebook and suddenly, a community of people praying together every day. Not being in the same physical space has not detracted from this sense that, in a way we have never known in all our time here, we have found a way to have a sustained community prayer with others. I deeply appreciate it, I hope the others who are part of it do too. 

3) Attentiveness to my locality

In the strict early days of lockdown, options for getting out were, as we know, very restrictive: but, for me at least, certain positives came even from this. Knowing my outdoor time was strictly limited made me prioritise enjoying it. In "normal" life, as was, I generally get out and about, with lots of walking built in to my normal routine: but it took lockdown limits for me to commit to ensuring I went out absolutely everyday, come rain or shine. Walking (and cycling) became less functional, more enjoyable. I learned (albeit imperfectly) to be more fully present in the moment, focused on the activity and the surroundings rather than my brain always whizzing ahead to the next thing. noticed things which I've undoubtedly passed many times without ever seeing. Repeating the same walks and cycle rides regularly meant I watched the seasons change before my eyes: I noticed different flowers bloom and fade along the canals; I saw buds and blossom come and then go, I watched families of ducklings grow up. At the same time, limitations on travel further afield has also meant I have explored parts of Birmingham I've never really visited in my time here. Perhaps none of this should have needed lockdown, but it did. Hopefully, however, they are lessons learned that won't be quickly forgotten.

4) The book of the blog 

It's true that, in theory at least, this project didn't need lockdown to come to fruition. But every other time I've thought about doing it, it has remained just that, a thought. Whereas this time I felt able to carve out the space to actually put the necessary time into the editing to make it happen. I am, as I wrote in a previous post, extremely pleased with the result.   

5) Flowers in the foyer

There is, something deeply satisfying about growing things. We have always had a few houseplants on our windowsills. Early on, we tried to grow things on the roof but the seagulls always had other ideas. But when lockdown arrived, and the building was closed to the public for the foreseeable future, we suddenly had lots more space to play with. The space behind the full-length glass windows in the foyer are, it turns out, perfect for growing things. Admittedly, I probably would have tried to get hold of dwarf sunflower seeds if I'd known just how tall the ones I found in a random packet were going to grow, but I have found it very pleasing to watch seeds germinate, poke up through the compost, and finally flower. I wonder whether, when the building reopens, I'll be allowed to continue my little gardening efforts ...

Life in Lockdown

A few weeks ago, I was interviewed by Nick, the URC synod evangelist, about life at Carrs Lane during lockdown.  In church circles, I guess we are fairly unusual, and because of that, some might even suggest, vaguely interesting. While many people have been discovering how to 'live church' away from their church buildings for perhaps the first time; we have spent even more time 'in church' than usual.

There was, of course, a specific agenda and audience in mind. The context was for it to form part of a series, sharing good news with and from churches about lockdown. A lot of what I said was fairly rambling and incoherent. When talking about the Stories project and the other ways in which I have tried to stand alongside asylum seekers and refugees through this period, I feel like I failed to properly communicate the great joys and benefits ... for them and for me. There is much that is left unsaid.

It is, I suppose I am saying, far from perfect as a reflection of the last few months. But it exists as a record of a conversation (albeit edited) at a particular moment in time and hey, if its out in the big wide world of the internet, I guess it makes sense for it to be shared here too.

Seven Years

It is seven years since we moved to Birmingham. Maybe not exactly today, but this summer marks spending seven years in a place I have come to love as home.

There is particular significance to this for me because it means Birmingham is now the place I have lived longer than anywhere else in my life, overtaking the place in which I spent my distinctly less happy and less fulfilled teenage years. 

If we weren't in the midst of a global pandemic I'd undoubtedly have considered throwing a party to celebrate, sharing the occasion with some of the many who have been part of the journey to making this place home. Hey ho, 'tis not to be this time: a slightly rambling blogpost will have to suffice by way of marking the moment!

It doesn't feel so very long ago that I was accustomed to being told by others that my addresses needed their own page in their address book because there had been so many of them. I have certainly gone through phases of changing location at frequent intervals: following the next opportunity to other parts of the country or in some cases, the world. Some I still return to at intervals, some I guess, there is a strong likelihood I will never even visit again. Many, perhaps all, are rich in the memories who have shaped the me I am today.

But here we are, in Birmingham: seven years and counting, with no plans to move on from this place any time soon. Initially my love for Birmingham took me somewhat by surprise. The sense of connectedness to this place which gradually crept up on me, likewise. But I have discovered a new appreciation for the semi-solid foundations I have built here. In a way that has perhaps never been true before, I have put down roots and built community and connections which tie me to a geographical locality. Where once I feared that these kinds of ties would feel restrictive somehow, here, I have discovered that they don't. 

I could probably write at length about the host of interrelated reasons why Birmingham has held me in a way that nowhere else has: but I suspect most or all have probably made sufficient appearances in a blog post (or several) in the intervening years and don't need to be repeated here. 

This is not a post which intends to pretend that Birmingham is perfect: I would be the first to admit that it isn't. Nor am I declaring that I have found somewhere I will settle for ever: who knows what the future might hold and where it might take me. But it is an acknowledgement, I guess of my sense of connection and attachment to this place. 

One thing is certain, I don't believe that staying here for so long (by my standards) means that life has somehow become static, nor that I have lost my desire for newness and adventure. That which in the past I have found by switching location, I have continued to discover amidst the new opportunities and new encounters which have continued to enrich my life here in this place. 

The adventure continues. Here. For now at least.