Lockdown Lessons

What if you could go back to your pre-coronavirus self and give her a heads-up? Co- founder Corrie did just that…

Dear Corrie,

You won’t believe this but life, as you know it, is about to end. Workplaces will close, schools will shut and entire continents will go into lockdown. A global pandemic is going to infect millions, kill thousands and bring the world to its knees.

“You’ll have periods when you can’t remember what month it is, let alone the day.”

Your schedule will be wiped clean (or it would be if you could get your hands on any wipes). You will literally strike through every appointment because time will just...stop. You’re going to inhale the news at first, then skim it through your fingers, then swear off it, then recalibrate and find your trusted news sources and stick to those. You will become fluent in the terms ‘social distancing’, ‘contact tracing’ and ‘flattening the curve’. You’ll get choked up watching quarantined Italians sing from their balconies, New Yorkers exercising on rooftops, and a 100-year-old British veteran raise $40million walking around his garden. You’ll join the rest of humanity in celebrating health workers, the overnight superheroes.

Bad news: you’ll need to ditch the excuse that you’re ‘terrible at crafts’ and embrace them with your four-year-old, Evie (you’ll still hate the mess). You’re going to clash heads with your eight-year-old, Arthur, over just about every part of homeschooling (get ready to live and breathe Zoom, Seesaw and Houseparty). Your suspicions will be confirmed: you are not cut out to be a teacher. But the truest, most beautiful thing is this: there’s nowhere to hide, so the two of you will face it together and come out stronger. You’ll wonder how lockdown is affecting your kids - the virtual playdates, the endless screen time, the drive-by graduations. But then you’ll watch Arthur and Evie become thick as thieves. Arthur will teach Evie to climb trees, and she will force him to sit through Frozen 2. With no peers in her life, you’ll notice Evie grow up overnight. You’re going to get a puppy - a shiny black Cocker Spaniel with oodles of energy. The biggest impact? Having your husband, James, around 24/7. I won’t lie, it’s going to take some adjustment. But eating together as a family every mealtime swiftly becomes something you never want to sacrifice again.

"Bagging a Fresh Direct delivery spot feels like winning the lottery."

You're going to run out of paper towels, flour, toilet paper and rice. Your milk will inexplicably expire faster than usual. You’re going to become a master at creating meals with a few random ingredients. James and Evie will become the Baking Duo (you’re going to put on a few pounds; deal with it). You’re going to miss your friends; the texture of them, their three-dimensional-ness. But you’re also going to connect with people that you haven’t in years thanks to an overwhelming desire to ‘check in’.

Wearing a mask will become second nature. So will latex gloves. You won’t believe it, but you’re not going to wear makeup. Your skin won’t glow like the magazines promise but your naked nails have never looked better. You won’t be able to get highlights (sorry). You’re going to cut James’s hair, and then watch through your fingers as he shaves Arthur’s head with clippers.

You're going to discover Taryn Toomey’s The Class and do it every day, marveling that it took you so long to find it. You’ll read Glennon Doyle’s Untamed, then reread it and underline the parts that speak to you (that will be all of it, then). Walking to the mailbox becomes a whole-family event. Bagging a Fresh Direct delivery spot will feel like winning the lottery. You’ll smile whole-face smiles at the UPS man and stop to chat. When your local Italian restaurant slips free ice cream into the takeout bag with a ‘thank you for supporting us’ message you’re going to feel a lump in your throat.

“You’ll ditch the excuse that you’re ‘terrible at crafts’ and embrace them with your four-year-old”

You’re going to go through a major period of uncertainty with your business and wonder how it will survive. You’ll miss your work wife more than words can say. After a fortnight of no face-to-face contact, you’ll make a pact to speak daily on the phone just to hear each other’s voice. You’re going to pause. And then you’re going to create. You’ll action all the ideas you never had time for because of your never-ending to-do list. You’re going to get up at 5.30am because two hours working alone will be worth more than eight hours working when the kids are up and need you every five minutes (maybe this is why your skin isn’t glowing?!)

Time will become elastic. A minute can last an hour. A week can last three days. You’ll have periods when you can’t remember what month it is, let alone the day. You’ll watch Spring Break go by, then Easter, then Memorial Day and Graduation. You’ll wonder when the trees in your back garden will stop looking like something out of the Blair Witch Project and start sprouting some actual f***ing leaves. When they do, you’ll tearfully proclaim never to take nature for granted again. You’ll notice all the animals in your garden and their daily habits. Together, you’ll name them. Stan the Stork, Jill the Heron, Tommy Turtle and Fred Fox become part of the family. You’ll cheer when chicks appear in the robin’s nest outside your front door.

“The enforced pause will make you sit with your feelings. Some of it you’ll like, some you won’t. All of it you’ll accept because what else can you do?”

Now for the hardest part. Right at the last second, your parents’ visit from the UK will get canceled, as travel bans are imposed and worldwide fleets of planes are grounded. You’ll feel every one of the three thousand miles between you, as long-haul air travel becomes as likely as flying to Mars. You’re told that you can’t risk bringing the virus to their door because it could be fatal. You don’t know when you’ll see them or your grandparents again. So, you’re going to sit tight and follow the rules and vow never to take being together for granted again.

Despite the craziness, the fear and the uncertainty, you’re already sensing on a deeper level how much of this period you’re going to miss. The enforced pause will make you sit with your feelings (good and bad); it will make you unpick and unpack. Some of it you’ll like, some you won’t. All of it you’ll accept because what else can you do?

My advice? Lean into appreciation like never before. Be grateful for your health, your family, your home, your friends, your togetherness, despite the distance. Appreciate the pause, the clean slate. Recognize that there are parts of your old life that can stay there. And once quarantine lifts, rebuild the life you want.

Stay strong.
Lots of love,
Corrie