Instead - Bianca Millroy
One thing the 2020 Pandemic made quick work of was sorting out who between us are pessimists, realists, and optimists. I’ve always leaned more towards optimism but enduring the first lock-down with an uncertain end date and mass toilet paper shortages, I admit it was hard to “look on the bright side”. As the landscape of our daily lives shifted, so did our collective experience, with each perimeter drawn, every check-in registered, movements traced, plans cancelled. Stay at home. Stay safe. Stay 1.5 metres apart. Stop the spread. Make sourdough instead.
The Optimist in me rejoiced at all the awkward hugs, cheek kisses, limp handshakes, small talk in the coffee queue and overcrowded lifts I’d be saved from. The Pessimist in me sulked in a corner as each passing day brought more storm clouds to the fore: unemployment, cancellations of major festivals and events, a trip to the U.S. thrust into a holding pattern. Time slowed. Fear reigned as uncertainty swept over our global village. Stay at home. Stay safe. Stay 1.5 metres apart. Stop the spread. Get a Zoom account instead.
The Realist always puts things into perspective. High above the city of masks in our 12th-storey cubby house, my partner, our dog and I found a new rhythm to our days. Mornings started late with home-brewed coffee and a leisurely walk around vacant parkland. Listen: bird calls instead of jet engines. A sky as vast and empty as our wall calendars. Working hours switched from desktop to laptop, in-person to on- screen, commuting time converted to quality time. Savings accumulated from cancelled gym subscriptions and postponed haircuts. Nowhere to go, now what?
Time spent is suddenly restored. The Earth is healing. But the news headlines are impossible to ignore as the number of cases climbs. The virus infects every aspect of
our lives. Stay home. Stay safe. Stay 1.5 metres apart. Stop the spread. Plant trees instead.
But the Writer in me yearned for a different story: one of courage and resilience.
As a writer, I respond by retreating into the comfort and security of words: story- worlds far, far away and characters who know nothing of this time and place. I escape to the solitary existence of a lighthouse keeper in 1939. I find solace in the predictability of routine and order; the ebb and flow of the tide; the raising and lowering of the signal flags; the lighting and extinguishing of the lantern. My preoccupation is the safety of others, so I have little concern for my own welfare. I have food and shelter, light and warmth. I am home. I am safe. I read and play Solitaire in my spare time, of which is limited because my duty is around the clock. The only change comes on the tail of a Nor’Easterly gale. A symptom of the seasons. Yet still the sun rises and sets, the ships pass, my light guides their way.
Stay home. Stay safe. Stay 1.5 metres apart. Stop the spread. Write stories instead.