Relishing Enforced Self-Isolation

Plagued with depressive pensive melancholy, over the years such emerged as the epitome of my solitude existence. Supressed by intermittent therapeutic interventions, melancholic moods were the source of a perverse comfort against a rising backdrop of paralysing episodic anxiety that dogged so many travels, and human interactions.

Yet when community lockdown was aired, I welcomed the news with an approving smirk. Nonetheless, my pessimistic self soon became cautious of negative distractions having the potential to disturb my impending enforced peace. Inevitably such a shift in mood influenced my sharing of the news. For my former brief beam of delight was essentially overcome by the all too familiar anxiety, which was presented with a slight grimace.

Yet as the test of time soon proved, it was not mine to reason the lockdown whys, nor was it mine to question the purported truths, such whys passed by. Rather lockdown soon emerged as the much-needed grace; saving me from the outside cultural violent noises, albeit cause for much of my perpetual melancholy.

By early autumn however, realizing the potential risks associated with the encroaching pandemic were emerging as more real by the day, I soon advanced hygiene with the voluntary application of N95 masks as a necessary protection, rather than simply a self-motivated indulgence.

Furthermore, with the eventual announcement of community lockdown, I embraced the leisurely pursuit of ardently viewing movies. Such viewing time soon evolved into a newly found fondness for reality video blogs. It was such a viewing pass-time that was cause for a shift in audio-visual preferences. Subsequently, viewing panned from re-enactments of action pact medieval tales onto female interpretations of transforming solitary existence into liveable spaces; setting a stage for domestic tranquillity. Spanning from the Swedish wilderness, to pursuing rural chateau transformations, all such viewing opened one’s mind beyond the scope of mundane maintenance to reinventing adventures, that evoked sense of belonging and pleasantry.

Inspired then, by the mobilisation of horticultural and resettlement ideas, I soon aspired to developing my own reconstructive concepts to better my protective closure, albeit within the locale of a greater tropical landscape. So by late winter, with a reinvigorated mindset, followed by the necessary professional advisement, I set to work on altering my mundane existence by creating a sanctuary within the bounds of suburban busyness.

Far from a mausoleum honouring past inhabitants, my once tired bungalow morphed from a chrysalis of renovation into a much-loved home. Embellished with colourful ‘coppice and ordered gardens’ the once disordered emerged into a shrine for orderliness. Surrounded neatly by neighbouring mountain ridges, my surrounds transcended beauty to a passionate love; a love I am sure Dorothy Mackellar would inevitably shun. Nonetheless, it was enforced solitude that was the source of my saving grace, transcending the static state into a dynamism that resulted in transformation.

Basking in an anxiety free moment, following weeks of reconstructive activity, I recall standing on my porch gazing at the beauty before me, beyond the fence line. I recall too, a gentle rise of cooling air which appeared to usher in the encroaching eventide. Transfixed on the neighbouring tranquil landscape, whilst supping on warm ginger tea and freshly baked jam drops, I became conscious of the world beyond societal aspirations and expectations. The surrounding treescape boarded by a backdrop of mountainous terrain shrouded in a lilac hue, I consciously continued to muse over such pristine natural order, a welcomed hospice from my familiar dark mindless space.

Not anticipating such quiet to break, I soon closed my eyes to better absorb the healing power of such natural serenity. Suddenly, aroused by an intermittent hoot, I gazed toward the direction of the call that interrupted my peace. Recognizing the call, I consciously understood the resident owl was once again engaging in a ritualist evening call, announcing the close of another day. Governed by time and space, void of the broader urban clutter, soon a choir of bird song followed. High pitched sparrow chirps ushered in a squawk projected by a passing cockatoo. The rhythmic chatter too from a neighbouring thicket swaying in the rising breeze harmoniously brought a depth to the ala naturelle symphony; a euphonious order that transcended the consciousness into a brief state of pleasantry.

It was being present within that precious moment, thoughts shifted from clutter of societal demands, onto contemplating the broader understanding of personal peace. The paradise in which I reside, emerged not as a fortress against the outside noise, rather a line of defence that offered intrinsic freedom.

Transgressing domestic tangibility, it was nature’s bountiful orchestra that essentially stimulated an awareness of the present. No longer distracted by expectation nor aspiration; I emerged into a momentary state of stillness; a knowing beyond the self. Indeed, those alternate natural voices, ushered the emergent mindfulness, a remedy for the haunt of perpetual melancholia.

So inevitably, confined not by wall nor deed, solitude did not signify aloneness. Indeed, the interval of confinement provided opportunity to explore alternate closures. Transcending boredom, drama, or anguish, driven not by flight or fight, such was responsible for one’s intrinsic freedom. Embracing then the present, I was enabled to relish enforced self-isolation.