Bubbles and reflective boredom

Today our Prime Minister outlined what level 2 lockdown would look like; much less of a lockdown and more opportunities to lead an almost normal life coming up in future. But what is normal for me going to be like?

I've being trying really hard to adapt to my new life in Rolleston, NZ from unwillingly being unemployed, then a senior citizen and in lockdown. It has been a lot of change but during the lockdown there was a complete lack of change in my days. That hasn't worked for me either.

My bubble is a physically comfortable one: I have my new house and a flourishing garden. I've worked hard on them and they reflect a part of me. They are intensely personal because it's me who has created and designed them but their creation is mostly finished. There's little more I can do to them. Confined to my little French DomTom of One (a little French offshore territory in my mind), I've had so much time to consider what I want for the rest of my life and I'm in conflict.

In many ways, I have adapted extremely well to no visitors, no deadlines, no work, no contact. I am perfectly capable of staying in bed for hours reading or checking social media, or gardening while mumbling to myself in French or English, or pottering with music. Oh dear, I've been hiding away from the world and not wanting anything else in my life, even being a little afraid of life as it unfolds so unexpectedly. Just when I think maybe I can settle for a 'nothing happens' life I realise I need more than that. A LOT more.

There is the other side of me that remembers my past and how life was so much richer, especially during my time in France. Oh the adventures I had there and the countries I visited in Europe. I was reminded of one of those adventures when it came to my attention today that a French ex-boyfriend has become quite famous and infamous over the past year. With him I entered the outskirts of a world so different, a bit dangerous, ultimately disappointing but what an adventure. And we liked each other even though his final behaviour was not nice. Those of you who have read my book may guess to whom I am referring. No, it wasn't conservative and risk-averse Jean-Claude. No it wasn't the guy who ghosted me. There 'he' was on YouTube in front of the media, and I remembered, and it woke up the adventurous Frances again. How very frustrating.

Back in France, especially in the early years, life was positive and exciting, filled with new experiences, twists, strange meetings that showed me the world was so much more than a couple of islands in the South Pacific. Now I am stuck inside four walls in Rolleston and no matter how I try, it seems a bland and bleak future - trying to get excited about a visit to the hairdresser or Mega Mitre 10 after all I have seen and felt. There's no growing, no adventure, no grand projects. 

I have energy, curiosity, talents being wasted here. I can't shove the genie back in the bottle. I've been trying now for 2.5 years. It takes Covid 19 to prove it by showing me the shut-in option. Shit, I don't know what to do, very little I can do in this new world order, but I can only stay open a bit longer before maybe I lose the spunk I used to have. Somebody send me some tinder, I need to light a fire under myself. Blast that Covid 19. 


Photos show: home in NZ, Greece, France, Brazil, Hungary.