It seems even normality is impermanent

Sinéad O'Loughlin

As my sister observed when Covid-19 began to grip this country, the Buddhists are right about everything being impermanent – even normality is impermanent.

Some things we all have in common: our hands are raw from washing and sanitising; our worlds are shrinking as we self-isolate; and we have all been plunged into an eerily apocalyptic strangeness as, bit by bit, the world around us shuts down.

But behind every business with a ‘closed’ sign on its door are a business owner and staff whose finances and livelihoods are now on the rocks. Through the windows of every private house is an individual or family dealing with newfound uncertainty and anxiety.

As a mother of two children, two weeks ago I was happy to be getting back to work with a couple of freelance projects that would mean two months’ work during the kids’ school times.

Thanks to the virus, my work projects are cancelled and with the kids home from school for the foreseeable future, it feels like a regression to the all consuming baby and toddler years rather than step forward I had expected. God can indeed laugh at our plans.

With no school, no meet-ups with friends, no trips to meet family in Dublin, no cafés, no aforementioned work for me to get back to, our usual routine has been turned upside down.

Our relatively minor discomforts included having to wait a few days for an oil delivery as old people were (rightly) being prioritised, and, when buying meat for the dinner, waiting outside Joe the butcher’s window till the previous customer had cleared the shop, and then calling our lamb chops order from the doorway. (Liz generously brought the two lollipops out to us, so the children were happy if a little bewildered by the scene.)

We’re only two weeks into ‘closedown’ and I’m feeling like we’re being forced to live as parents of previous generations lived – a life based on the essentials: a quiet home life with trips out only to buy groceries or medicines or for fresh air.

A pleasant surprise is how home-schooling each morning can actually be an enjoyable and rewarding occupation.

Not formerly a television or social media person, I’m now appreciating these. The media’s constant commentary about our new world is welcome for once and staying connected with family and friends with video calls is a lifeline. Instagram is good for morale-boosting one-liners.

Watching the Taoiseach Leo Varadkar’s news-time broadcasts, I couldn’t help but feel parallels with war-time dictatorship and propaganda, as we moved to a more complete lockdown from Friday evening, rather than voluntarily closing down.

Of course, while this whole isolation thing isn’t nice, according to experts it is necessary and we must all do as we’re told in the hope that the pain will pass quicker and the death toll will be lessened.

Like many in Ireland, for me, so far, any unpleasantness has been from the economic and social effects but I’m worried about that moment when I hear of a loved one who has the virus. When I say a Hail Mary with my daughters before I tuck them off to sleep, I think of my family, knowing many of them are saying the odd prayer too.

In the middle of all the strangeness, there is a sense of solidarity and of people pulling together in what ways we can as we hide out in the trenches. One psychologist on my Instagram feed advised that we should hug and comfort each other more as a family, and simplistic though it may seem, it’s good advice with anxiety rising and cabin fever inevitably setting in from time to time.

When all else fails, love. As Paul McCartney said, “we learn to live as we learn to give each other what we need to survive”.

It’s like we’re being pared back, both inside and out. The spiritual-minded might wonder if God or the Universe is trying to teach us something, and, equally, those who don’t believe in a higher power being at work may look at this global crisis with a view to taking something positive from it.

When the world eventually opens up again, it’s likely that for all of Buddha’s talk of impermanence, there may be something permanent – what has been lost.

Hopefully, government measures and our collective and individual efforts will minimise the losses.