Usually, after a period of being sick, I treat myself to an outburst of fun. I go to a gig, watch a play, I laugh with friends in the pub. I need something that affirms the good in life. Then I carry on with the spring back in my step.
These days, bad periods of migraine are met with a sort of flatlined living. I survive two weeks of migraine, only to spend the proceeding two weeks reading a book in the same room. Then, I’ll get back to work in the same room. To quote Twitter’s Colm Tóbín (sans profanity); “you’d be wrecked from it”.
2021, heralded as that bright, alluring New Year, got off to a stressful start when Covid-19 came too close for comfort. We worried about potential health consequences. We worried about practical implications. We made calls. We sent texts. We made contingencies of contingencies, and finally made peace wherever these contingencies were now impossible.
Safe to say, the year started in January, and I was ready for June.
But in the red-hot heat of it all – a text came in. A photograph of a sallow baby with almond eyes and a sticky-outy chest. My new nephew, Sonny.
Sonny is infinitely cosy. He jolts when he hiccups and he claps when he sneezes. He prefers to wear his hats propped upon his head. And he eats a lot.
He was born with fingernails more manicured than anyone I know. And he is a contented little guy.
I haven’t met him yet. But I spend my days zooming in on pictures and videos of him. It’s amazing how much you can love someone you’ve never met before.
Two days before I received the text announcing the arrival of baby Sonny, I noticed that both my orchid plants had new shoots growing. In the preceding weeks, three friends got engaged. Two friends got new jobs. I saw a swan dramatically pursue his mate on the Royal Canal. My friend sent a video of her singing with her mam and aunt. My niece learned to walk.
In a list of, Seven Secrets for Happiness, psychiatrist Dr Anthony Clare advised us to avoid introspection. The other secrets? "Cultivating a passion, being part of something bigger than yourself, accepting change, living in the moment, auditing your happiness and acting happy."
Introspection can be hard to avoid. Harder still during this pandemic. But life has a wonderful way of butting in. When we are deep in our thoughts, a swan flies past, or a text comes in, or a photo of a seven-pound baby proudly announcing his presence in this world.
Seal pup
I was reminded of a novel incident during my Cape Clear residency. Each artist undertook a project over the course of the two-month programme. I wrote about a sweet-singing yellow bird. Another artist worked with film and sound. And a third artist made sculptural installations in the landscape.
Only the latter artist’s plan was scuppered when the beach he was working on was cordoned off. A seal pup had landed on the shore after being abandoned by her mum, compelling the locals to turn the beach into a makeshift a nursery. His plans would have to reworked. The pup’s welfare would prevail.
The world, we laughed, is far bigger than us.
I’m not sure what goes on in Sonny’s head. He seems to observe this world with great intensity. When he is hungry, hunger consumes not only every ounce of his mind but of his body too. Without inhibition, and with force, like a woodpecker he will peck whatever body part (whatever body) he can reach until this request is fulfilled. When he is satiated, he is gloriously milk-drunk.
Right now, his world may not be much be much bigger than him, his milk-supply, his mama and dada, but our world is much bigger with him in it.
These days, life can feel very flat. We have been robbed of so many joys. We have been allotted so many losses. And yet, if we cast our gaze outwards, we will see that there is someone out there still pushing the ‘good thing’ button.
So, I may not, for a while, be going to plays, or pubs, or packed performances, but I will be zooming in on pictures of baby Sonny – and I will walk with a spring in my step!