Member-only story
I’ve always considered myself to be lucky.
My life is filled with wonderful things, many of which I’m not sure I deserve. I’m fit and healthy, I’m well educated. I have people around me who love me, I was born in a wealthy country which isn’t being ravaged by war or poverty or sickness or…actually scratch that last part. Right now there aren’t many places in the world that aren’t being ravaged by sickness. But, even in this, I’m lucky.
I’m isolating at home with my wonderful girlfriend. We have a garden which we can sit in whenever we feel like some open space and fresh air. Our income has been almost completely unaffected. Our parents (the only people we know well in an “at risk” age group) are comfortable and are able to isolate without worrying about access to medication or special care. They don’t even need us to go grocery shopping for them.
Every morning I get to wake up, just like I did before the pandemic gripped the world, and read the thoughts of lucky people like myself. I read about the opportunity that this drastic change gives me to reevaluate my priorities. About how I should use this extra free time to learn a new skill, or to tick something off my to-do list, or to deepen my meditation practice.
I read about how the constant bombardment with the latest figures of dead and sick is bad for my mental wellbeing, not to…
