I did go out for a walk earlier, to clear my lungs and stave off cabin fever. I’m lucky that we live on the side of a hill that is designated a nature reserve and, although the woods are managed and there are paths, there is no housing. Jackdaws and other corvids were in the upper branches. Seagulls mobbed a young buzzard. Spring buds are coming through.
The tracks were muddy from all the recent rain, and marked by tracks of cycle and dog. Horses left hoof prints behind. The picture to the right is looking north, more or less, over the Firth of Forth to Fife beyond.
Years ago, when I was on the Children’s Panel, I realised that, when you only see children who are in difficulty, it’s easy to assume all children are in difficulty. You lose the perspective that it is a minority who come to the Reporter’s attention and only a small proportion of those who are ever seen at a Hearing. I’m trying to keep the same perspective on this virus: if I only ever see horror stories from Italy, then it is easy to think that the horror stories are the whole story. Of course, the stories function as a cautionary tale, reminding us all to protect ourselves and those around us, but they also divert from the bigger picture.
Shifting perspective and maintaining the shift are hard. Even when you know the odds are in your favour, the back of your mind repeats the old National Lottery strapline–it could be you. And so the anxiety never quite fades.
A walk on the hill is good, but it also reminds us, if one is of a cast of mind to be reminded, that life is provisional; seasonal; cyclical. It is simultaneously robust and fragile. I can’t do anything about that, but, with huge respect to the people who are suffering, I need to turn that element of the news off.
And on that note, here’s a bit of melancholy beauty: The Weepies, The World Spins Madly On
I really appreciated a thread on Twitter last night by Paul Gray (@PAG1962) whom I knew a little when I worked at Scottish Government. I’ve edited the format to make it readable as a single block of text here, but not changed any of his words.
Decisions, decisions
What if, instead of taking the easy decision, leaders did what leaders have to do? What if they made unpopular decisions, based on the evidence, because they cared enough to take the criticism, rather than take a bad decision and take the praise?
What if they took decisions, knowing that they might have to change them later, in light of further evidence, even although they might be criticised for that too? What if they were honest about not knowing everything, rather than giving false hope, and false certainty?
Substantial restrictions are in place and more could come soon; some form of enforced lockdown may come before long. The evidence will continue to inform decisions; there are people working every day to ensure that the response is as comprehensive and effective as it can be.
And these people actually care about the people they serve. They want to serve them well. They don’t have all of the answers but they are gathering data all the time, refining their proposals, adjusting them as needed – and they are doing it for you, not for themselves.
We need to keep together on this. It’s been said many times – if you want to go fast, go alone; if you want to go far, go together. Be kind to yourself, be kind to others. I know that your intentions are good, and I respectfully ask that you credit others with the same sentiments
This ties to my thoughts in earlier posts. I see a lot of discussion and criticism of decisions made and I understand that, but I now avoid it whenever I can because right now I don’t need to dwell on uncertainty.
This has nothing to do with the merits of those discussions, on which I’m not qualified to comment, and everything to do with me staying rational in the house all day.
A couple of years ago I wrote a collection of linked vampire short stories which ended up with the vamps unleashing a pandemic on the human population to reassert their position as apex predators and to address future loss of habitat caused by climate change and human surveillance systems. I’ve had two thoughts about those stories (and the sequel of which only a chapter exists so far): (i) I hadn’t predicted the toilet paper thing and (ii) I’m not going to go back to edit it quite yet.
(On the other hand if any agents or publishers with nothing better to do are reading this and want a 100,000+ word short story collection to pass the time then drop me a line 🙂 Ask me about my novel too.)
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All is well here. I still have that feeling that I’m on the edge of coming down with a late winter cold, which is not great timing. So far it’s just a feeling rather than anything else and may just be anxiety-induced hypochondria. Luckily there’s always Corstorphine Hill for when I get cabin fever.
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