Last evening’s walk was a very unsettling experience.

I stepped out of the house looking forward to it. My daily walk over the years has been a time for varied pursuits – quiet, rumination, clarification and framing issues, writing mental first drafts, and private voicing of wishes and fantasies. I walk at a good clip. Consequently, I am alone during this time and that is fine.

Loaded with much reflective outpouring on social media about ‘the year that changed the world like never before’ and all the lessons learnt, I stepped out hoping to add to this – my own, at the end of my walk. I was vaguely aware that I did not feel the general sense of relief, the bounce, the compulsive optimism and positivity that was emanating from cyberspace for much of the day.

Into my stride after the first half kilometre, I turned my attention to the year gone by. That is when things got a bit crazy and scary. I was blank one moment, utterly jumbled and cluttered in the next – heart racing, mind misbehaving, disobedient. Was this a sign of cognitive decline? Panic. I was quite functional. Generally. So, a false alarm. Maybe.

I felt dislocated, un-anchored and alone.

When I looked back at 2020, I saw a scramble. An indistinguishable heap. I had no words. When I shifted to look ahead, there was no horizon in sight. My heart was dry, empty, a void. Lungs heavy. I became aware that my stride was long and quick. Images of being adrift at sea crossed my mind, head bobbing and barely above water, lungs labouring, and feet furiously paddling.

I stayed with this for a while.

In 2020, I had few professional engagements, and much of the year was about managing the house and being responsive to the needs of the family during the lockdown, managing the sick and dying, and some fruitless pursuits – trying to dispose of immovable properties and settling the MH370 compensation matter. I read some books, watched movies and binge-watched some shows and wrote occasionally for my blog.  The sense was of being trapped, tied down, and having less and less to feel enlivened or look forward to. I suspect that there were periods of unacknowledged anxiety and stress too.

I told myself I had been quite functional, notwithstanding feelings of unease or distance from myself. Each day rolled into the next without serious lapse or mishap. I (and we at home) stayed safe. We evaded Covid-19 and remained healthy. We Zoomed when needed.  I realised I wasn’t a glutton for knowledge offered by the wise and the pretenders, 24×7, live on Zoom / Facebook / LinkedIn. I didn’t plug into the endless stream of movies and music online. My world had shrunk. My concerns were more immediate or about the imminent. I didn’t dwell on continuities of events, people, relationships (save a few), or institutions.  This seemed alright. But was it? Was it all just a pathetic lack of appetite and passion? Not a blazing flame, and at best, a dim glow of light that peered through the dark? I was hesitant to venture further with this during the walk. I parked this for another time, another day.

I contemplated the evening. Maybe I should try writing about all that I was with through much of the walk, I said to myself. Could writing about darkness shed some light? There was no New Year’s Eve get-together to host or go to. The daughter was out with her friends. Mother will be in her room mostly, on the phone, on Facebook or on calls with children, grandchildren, and other family and friends. Over time, we have some shared concerns, and fewer and fewer shared interests, if you get what I mean.

The feeling of dislocation wore off. It was time to head home, pour myself a drink, let the TV be on and respond cheerfully to the New Year’s messages coming in.