Skip to main content

Life in a time of covid-19 - part 11: earth day and apples




I have posted an i-phone photograph of the sunrise, on Instagram, every morning, for the past 22 days. And I am exhausted. But not so exhausted that I am tempted to stop. Not yet. Small things give purpose to the day. Particularly, when day after day we are in lockdown and the world looks more different than we could ever have imagined. There is something anchoring in seeing the sunrise. Maybe, it harks back to a deeply-rooted instinct that looks to the sun for reassurance. Maybe, it is my way of finding a constant - if the sun rises then I can too. I can begin my day.


The coronavirus has altered the world we live in, but the earth hasn't changed. Or has it?

Arguably, the earth has changed -
  • Across the industrialised world, industry has shut down and commuting to work has all but ceased. As a result, pollution levels have collapsed. The WHO estimates that the smog caused by air pollution kills over 1.5 million people a year in India. Now the air is so clear that the Himalayas can be seen for the first time in a generation from parts of Punjab province. Imagine the amazement in children's eyes waking to see mountains in the distance - it must feel unreal and supernatural; like seeing another earth beneath a different sky.
  • In China, the reduction in air pollution is estimated to have saved the lives of 4000 children under the age of 5, during the two months of their industrial shutdown. That number is not a typo; four thousand children who would have died, mainly from respiratory diseases directly attributable to pollution. Shocking.
  • The canals in Venice are now so clear that aquatic life, not seen for years, has returned - there have been photographs of dolphins in the Venice lagoon.
  • The people of Milan seeing the beauty and majesty of their historic city, stripped bare of traffic during the pandemic, plan to emerge from lockdown with stricter congestion measures, more cycle lanes and an expansion of pedestrian-only areas.
  • Closer to home, the dawn chorus has been a louder, more varied cacophony than in many recent Springs. And I know because I've been awake for it! Thanks to this pair of insomniacs ... taking their afternoon naps yesterday - probably something to do with getting up too early!


  • The stars, too, have been magnificent in skies, clear of both the light pollution from industries and conventional pollution from carbon emissions.
It feels wrong to concur with climate scientists that an event as dreadful as the coronavirus pandemic has allowed the earth to breathe a little. This is a terrible thing to say. Isn't it? The pandemic is a tragedy on a global scale. Yet it is a tragedy that we might learn from, not least how to better manage future pandemics. It teaches us that we can work together, but that in future, we could work together better. It teaches us that despite years of economic austerity, there are financial ways and means available to prepare us for clawing ourselves out of recession. It teaches us that togetherness is where we live and breathe and find support. And togetherness is what will forge us a future. What we risk losing sight of, though, is that climate change is a similar tragedy waiting to happen. Climate change will not rush at us in the same way as coronavirus, but it has the potential to be similarly dreadful.

So what are our options -

Like Milan, we could prepare for a different future for our overcrowded cities. We have experienced working from home; maybe this could be the norm, or the norm for part of the week. We have learnt what is essential. Maybe we will use our cars less and walk more. Maybe we will regard weekend jaunts abroad as frankly too risky in a post-pandemic world and will instead choose to spend more time at home and even to holiday nearer at home. Maybe without hours spent commuting and travelling to meetings, the working week will be compressed into 3 or 4 days. All of these options would help the climate.

But ... me and my buts - this is a biggy - the estimated 5% reduction in carbon emissions in the first few months of this year is less than - LESS THAN - that required to meet the annual reduction in emissions required by the Paris Climate agreement. And that is the starkest climate related statistic I have seen for a while.

Thinking about climate change at this time might seem perverse, but this is Earth Day 2020; the 50th Earth Day. It's not too late to get involved and take a look at the events online (... even if I don't get round to posting this til tomorrow).

There is however a ballooning of mental ill health and I am mindful that worrying about climate change on top of everything else is not helpful.

So how in this time of covid-19, do we think ourselves out of this one? How do we avoid heaping worry on top of worry? How do we mitigate our anxiety and depression?

This is what we do. We address our mental health and we bite the apple: A-P-P-L-E.

A is for acknowledging - we recognise that we have a problem; be it worry or anxiety or fear or depression or obsessive thinking. We see it (the problem). Say hello to it. And acknowledge it. We calmly accept it as being both present and a fact.

P is for pause. We stop. We breathe. We avoid reacting negatively.

P is for pulling back. Yes, there are problems out there but it is how we feel and react to them that matters. Anxiety and stress are simply reactions and the feelings they trigger are not facts. These feelings are not helpful. We can pull back from them.

L is for letting go. All those unhelpful feelings can be dropped. Let them slip away. We can use whatever metaphor we like to picture letting them go - feel them drain away; wrap them up and bin them; exhale and blow them away.

E is for explore. Grounding ourselves in the here and now - feeling the ground beneath our feet; touching our jumper; stroking our pet; smelling the roses in our garden. Being in the minute that is this minute and feeling safe. Looking for the constants - seeing the sun rise; seeing the stars in the sky; feeling the wind on our face.


By biting the apple we will learn how to cope with anxiety and fear. We will become stronger and more resilient and mentally better able to face the new world that will emerge. If we can also find within us the strength to care for the Earth that grounds us and is our home, our future will be better than it might have been.







For advice on managing anxiety: anxietyuk.org.uk

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Colour, Delacroix, flochetage and why don't we all have a go at inventing words

Yes - it is a real word. Flochetage. Well, a real-ish word. One invented by the painter Delacroix, when he found the dictionary cupboard bare and required a word to describe his technique of layering different coloured paints, using lightly pulled brush strokes to create texture and pattern and thereby enhance his base-layer colours (... lost? - stick around, read on and all will become clear. Or perhaps muddier ...). Flochetage implies both stringiness and threadiness. Apparently. And it sounds good - in a filling-the-mouth-with-sound sort of a way. Try it ... flochetaaaage. Not that I speak French. So I am probably mis-pronouncing it. Nor am I an artist. So what do I know about painting techniques - except that I think this one works. What I do like is the concept - you invent a new technique in whatever it is you do, hunt around for the vocabulary to describe it, find the dictionary is lacking, so make up a word of your own and announce to the world what it means. Delacroix isn&#
Post a Comment
Read more

My beloved boy, how lucky I have been

It's an odd thing that when we are waiting for someone to die ... and I say someone here even though the one in question was a dog - but to us he had character and a place forever in our hearts and was more of a familiar someone than some of the people in our lives. So, I'll start again - it's an odd thing that when we are waiting for someone to die, our senses go into overdrive. We notice things that normally would be part of the background of our every day. We breathe more - or rather, we don't but what we do is notice our breathing more, as we watch his. We pause. We think. We listen to ourselves and our inner voices speak. Memories flood our dreams ... though sleep is fitful.  Why am I telling you this? ... ... we lost this beautiful boy today And in the hours before he went, I saw perfect spheres of dew on blades of grass - little orbs holding micro-images of our world; a bumble bee drunk on nectar, yellow-dusted with pollen, resting in a crocus; ten - yes, ten!
Post a Comment
Read more

Curlews, summer skies and walking in circles.

Summer skies over the Yorkshire Dales and my mind is set to rest mode. But that rest is not totally restful; there is a niggle ... a memory, a hint of childhood, something that unsettles slightly - a light brush stroke of discomfort; a gossamer breath of discombobulation and a 'Woah! Wait a moment!' moment of 'that's-not-right!' - we're about as far from the sea as it is possible to be in middle Britain and yet, I can hear the distinctive Peep! Peep! of oystercatchers and the piercing cry of curlew. Here -  in the blue skies of the North Yorkshire dales and along the footpaths - and above the endless miles of drystone walls are birds that should be at the coast.  Oystercatchers, with their distinctive red pliers attached to their heads feed on - you've guessed it - oyster beds. All along the coastline of the British Isles, their distinctive cry is the call of summer. Drowned out somewhat by the banter of seagulls but sharp and
Post a Comment
Read more