When the walls fall down: Precarity in and beyond the workplace
This is the time to be slow,
Lie low to the wall
Until the bitter weather passes.
This John O’Donohue blessing took on new meaning for me during the first Covid lockdown in March 2020. It acted as a reassurance. For O’Donohue, the bitterness of difficulty is simply seasonal – like winter – sewn into the fabric of what it means to be alive. As sure as night turns into day, winter will become spring. Hard times will pass.
We each have our own lockdown story to tell. In my world, the contraction into a bubble consisting simply of myself and my two young children was, in many ways, a welcome relief. In the six months prior to 23 March 2020, all those *Big Grown-Up* words (that you hope you never have to say) had become part of my daily parlance: Bedside Goodbyes; Paramedics; Inquest; Eulogy; Cancer; Adultery; Separation; Custody. ‘Pandemic’ and ‘Lockdown’ seemed benign compared to all of those. The opportunity to slow down, lie low, and wait for the storm to pass seemed like an answer to my calls for help. Now was the time to stop. To get off the planet for a little while and watch from the side-lines while it kept on spinning.
In previous moments of difficulty, I have tried to follow the mantra of investing energy into the parts of my life where grounding and solidity remained. As my personal life imploded, I turned to my career as a source of comfort and retreat. But those Grown-Up words continued to bombard my ears: Restructuring; Closure; Redundancy. Everything that I had known to give my life a sense of stability had been found wanting in the space of less than a year. The restrictions of lockdown, coupled with my new-found status of single parent, prevented finding solace in friends and social life. The walls had fallen down, like a house of cards.
What to do when faced with precarity everywhere? With depleted reserves and a deep sense of distrust in the world, the idea of finding ground where I had not held it before seemed an insurmountable task. Instead, I decided to embrace the precarity. This moment of exposure was a chance to see how, in reality, any sense of quotidian stability was a construct in my mind, designed to make me feel better and project a reassuring sense of ‘control’. I stripped back, making our world small, in order to discover what really mattered and what could actually be held onto with any sense of surety. This is what I found:
Love. There is love in our lives. It may not be conventional but I count my kids and myself lucky to be surrounded by so many wonderful friends and family who did what they could, when they could, to remind us we were loved.
Sunshine. The sun will shine. Not always, but when it did, we seized it. I have learned to cherish the warmth on my skin because it is enough to remind me: I am alive.
Nature. Animals bring us great solace, so I embraced that. There is something wonderfully reassuring about an animal’s unconditional love. We grew things – in the garden, on the windowsill. We saw new life come into being at the touch of our hands and care. As we went about our daily walks, I acknowledged the strength of the natural world – trees, granite pillars, cliff-faces. These are things that have been around for much longer than me and will continue to be here long after I’m gone. I touched them. Felt their power. Sensed their wisdom.
Me. I am a constant in my world and my children’s lives. I can be a critic, but I’ve ultimately got to have my back. I am on my side. I want the best for us. I know what we need. I listen to me. And I consciously try to look after myself. If I am ok, my children will be ok. I try to eat well, exercise, relax.
Precarity is everywhere. I have tried to run from it; I have tried to build defences against it. But it was always there. The rug was pulled out from under me within a split second. I thought I knew how things were going to turn out (we were going to grow old together, right?), but this was aspiration, at best. While I would not wish any of the things that I have experienced during this past year on anyone, I am beginning to see the benefits of this baptism of fire. Instead of lying low to the wall, waiting for the storm to pass, I’m stepping into the wild, open space ready to face, head on, the next set of challenges that I know lie ahead. But before they come, I will continue to build my reserves and replenish my soul with love, warmth, and planet earth.
