Hey everyone,
I am, generally speaking, someone who prefers to spend a lot of time alone, mostly reading and writing. But every year I excitedly look forward to Guy Fawkes Night (or Bonfire Night) here in the UK, a night of meeting up with friends, watching fireworks, and far too much merriment.
For the four years that we lived in Tunbridge Wells, a historic market town in England, this was the one weekend of the year that we’d all eagerly plan for. We’d meet up with the neighbors and walk through the park where the entire town had gathered to watch the fireworks display over the lake. The children would get high on sugar and chase each other all over the place and the adults would pass around flasks of mulled wine as we stood shivering in the wet grass (since we always forgot to bring blankets.)
We would all, inevitably, end up in someone’s house (usually ours), where the party would continue long after the kids had gone to bed (or were huddled in bed together, watching movies.)
It’s my favorite night of the year and I await it eagerly all through the year.
This year, we didn’t get to do any of these things. We went back into a nationwide lockdown this week and so there were no friends, no parties, no fireworks over the lake, and no flasks of mulled wine.
For a short while, my son and I moped around, reminiscing about the old days, and then we decided that if we couldn’t go to the fireworks, we’d just have to bring them to us, in 2020 style, virtually.
Sam (my husband) made us hot chocolate and at night, usually around the time we’d have been going to the fireworks, the three of us huddled together in our dark bedroom, put on a video of the London New Year’s Eve fireworks on my computer, and sipped on our drinks while we watched. It was, I have to admit, much better than I’d expected. We talked, we giggled, Jude and Sam ganged up and made far too much fun of me, and my kid went to bed with stomach cramps from laughing so much.
Our socially-isolated virtual fireworks night was a success.
Everything’s been a little different this year, a little off. Like everyone else, I miss some of the things we most took for granted—having people over, going to my favorite café with Sam after we’d dropped Jude off to school and then sitting by the sea, talking about everything and nothing. I miss going to the pub on a weekend for a Sunday roast and running into people we know. I miss pizza Fridays at the pub with our neighbors. I miss hopping on a train to go to London and spending the day randomly walking around everywhere with no destination. I miss the bookshops. I miss the libraries.
There is so much chaos in the world and it impacts us no matter which country we’re in. Publishers in New York are waiting until after the election to make any major decisions and the London Book Fair has been postponed for the second time. I, finally—after months of being in limbo and worrying about deportation from the UK—received my visa from the Home Office, which means I’m good to stay here for another two years. Friends from back home in India message regularly, frequently frantic, almost always worried.
There has been so much to be stressed about and it impacts our mood, our work, our writing.
In my twenties, when my personal life was going to hell and I was dealing with a whole host of trauma and mental illness and isolation, writing became the refuge to which I came to escape from all of that. Instead of seeing writing as yet another chore, or work to be done, the blank page became the place where I found solace, where I would come to write and find peace, even joy. It is why, even today, I am able to write in the midst of choas, in fact, I do so to avoid falling prey to it.
I get why writers feel unable to write when they’re impatiently waiting for election results or stressing about a personal life situation because their concentration is shot. However, for me, it is the exact opposite. It is exactly in those moments of stress, of chaos, and of uncertainty that writing seems like the solid foundation to which I return. It is comforting to me now because over many years, that’s how I taught myself to see it.
I tend to write more when I’m stressed or depressed or flailing, because writing is what helps me find my way out of it.
I trained myself to do this. When I was sad, I wrote. When I was anxious, I wrote. When I was nervous, I wrote. When I was angry, I wrote.
So that every time I felt negative emotions, it was almost a cue for my brain to know it was time for writing.
The chaos is not going away, whether that be global, national or even personal.
Will you let that chaos be the reason you don’t and can’t write? Or can you, too, start training yourself to write despite what’s going on around you, the global and national events that are out of your control?
If you can, it’s a skill that will serve you for years to come.
And in moments when you feel adrift, a place where you can always find home.
Cheers,
Natasha