As a teenager in the 1980s, one of my favourite songs was “Ever Changing Moods” by the British band, Style Council. At the time, I could never have guessed where life would take me, and how the lyrics would ring so true, each and every day, during the rollercoaster ride that exemplified the pandemic experience of 2020. 

September 16th marked exactly six months of sheltering in place in San Jose, California. I had moved here from my hometown of Perth, Australia in March 2019, as my husband was working in a Silicon Valley tech company. My first year living in California was full of adventure and discovery. Almost every other weekend we would embark on a road trip, escaping the confines of our small-yet-cozy, three-room apartment. 

We drove up and down the iconic Pacific Coast Highway, stopping off at the famed Monterey and Big Sur destinations shown on the hit TV series “Big Little Lies.”  Within four to 10 hours of driving, we could reach Los Angeles, Las Vegas, and the awe-inspiring Yosemite National Park. As we became more ambitious, we travelled north to Portland and Seattle, spending a good part of our days twisting through mountain ranges, forests, and lakes. Our explorations continued throughout the year, with every season bringing new delights of sun and snow, wind and weather.

When the shutdown happened, I felt like a bird trapped in a cage, my wings abruptly clipped without warning. As shelter-in-place orders began in California, we thought it would be a matter of weeks until life would get back to normal. No one had the faintest notion that several weeks of self-isolation would drag on for close to seven months and then be imposed yet again in December. Every single day, I witnessed a kaleidoscope of emotions bubble up inside of me. And it wasn’t just me; this was happening collectively to many people across the globe. 

I can’t remember the exact moment when it dawned on me that life would never be the same. The corona virus brought tragedy into our lives, with the passing of two close family members within days of each other. And yet, through all that heartache and grief, my creative seeds were growing and blossoming, not just in spite of but perhaps because of the hardships we endured. I had never loved so much, laughed so much, nor cried so much. The seemingly unending months of lockdown were the most creatively fertile of my entire life. The keen observation of my inner world helped me translate those ever-changing moods, those extreme highs and lows, into a deep, authentic voice of resilience and optimism. 

Cocooned in my tiny abode, I nurtured myself, body, mind, and spirit, through writing, teaching and studying yoga, learning qigong, and practicing powerful group intention-setting. I took a “Wild Writing” class on the recommendation of Breathe Together Yoga Owner Jennifer Prugh, and it was an absolute revelation. Under the virtual tutelage of my instructor Laurie Wagner, she asked us to write non-stop for fifteen minutes, a stream of consciousness download, the pen never leaving the page the entire time. I delved into a rich and new interior landscape resplendent with hope, beauty, and wonder. It was a much-needed salve for the harsh reality we were all facing globally. During each virtual session, Laurie would read out a poem, inviting us to explore prompts drawn from that poem. As a result of this course, I created a YouTube channel with video recordings of reading my poems out loud, to document my writing journey in the time of Corona. I’ve copied one of them below.

What Belongs to Us is Everything and Nothing 

What belongs to us is not the sweet scent of wildflowers bobbing in the breeze.
Not the ravens swooping overhead searching for their next meal.
Not the sound of tall grass scorched like rattlesnakes, 
Snapping in the gust of wind and weather.
The burning hot sun rays cracking our lips, 
like pomegranates splitting and ripening, red and swollen.

What belongs to us is not the smooth curved pathways of the black pavement
Alongside the forest floor, all ferns and undergrowth.
Not the blue heavens glinting a promise of sunshine and perfect days forever.

The time has come to throw off our shackles and ropes, 
To release our spirits into the unknown.
The time has come for love and longing and hope to reign over the earth.

Right here right now,
I see and feel and yearn to be enfolded in nature’s beauty.
It’s terrifying magnificence too precious to behold.

The redwoods silently beckon.
I long to lose myself in the silken sheath 
Of leaf and branch and lichen.

What belongs to us is everything and nothing. 
All the memories of childhood, 
Every whisper, every tear, every raindrop, every bird song at dawn.
What belongs to us is the pure deep melancholy of a life well lived.
A life resplendent with failures and learnings.

Right here right now,
I feel breath enter my body.
I feel the cascade of curls on my face.
I feel the pen in my hand,
The smooth clean paper gliding under my fingertips.

Right here right now,
I feel the warmth of the morning sunshine on my face.
I feel the longing in my heart for everything I have lost.

Right here right now,
I am a tiny, precious boat floating on a lake.
I am the smell of freshly washed linen.
I am the taste of mint and melancholy.

Cloistered indoors, looking out onto a street filled with parked cars, people walking their dogs and birds nesting in trees, I felt like a latter-day Thoreau, secluded in an urban version of Walden Pond, observing the world unfolding all around me. The guest bedroom became my office. The king-sized bed was my chair, a plump navy cushion my desk. On some days, I was a warrior, slaying the dragon of discontent. On other days, I would cower under the bedsheets and dream of a different life. And yet, through it all, my heart was full of promise – my deep knowing telling me that this was the dawning of a new world, a time of hope and renewal. I was meditating more, loving more, dreaming more, and writing so much more. Holed up in that tiny apartment for months on end, my soul never felt more liberated, nor my mind and body more completely alive.