Lockdown was really boring; I think that’s something we can all agree on. After the initial novelty of having time off work had eroded, the monotony of each day really started to sink in. Not being able to go anywhere, do anything, or see anyone, caused my memories of the nondescript days, weeks and months to gradually coalesce. Every day became indistinguishable from the last; both somehow simultaneously over in an instant, and lasting an eternity. The purgatory took its toll on my mental health, as I’m sure it did for a lot of us.
And yet, in spite of that mind-numbing time, I found myself with a renewed sense of gratitude for the things that had previously seemed routine. Flowers blossoming in the local park, a phone call with a friend, even hanging washing out to dry on a sunny day. There is comfort to be found in the familiar. Where life had once seemed dark and my depression inescapable, a glimmer of light emerged: celebrate the ordinary, embrace the beauty of the day-to-day and be grateful for the little things. Sometimes that’s enough.