SPRING CHICK

I feel the need to give you full disclosure right up top; the column you’re about to read is a direct reaction to what is going on right now in the world. I’m currently sitting on my bed, which I haven’t left all day, working my way through some Sour Cream and Chives chips and doing everything in my power to get through Auckland’s lockdown. 

I’ve always found lockdowns tough; they impact my work, social life, and mental health. In all honesty, I did find our first national lockdown last year to be a little novel. We had never experienced anything like it before. The thrill of our whole country (apart from the odd liability in a tinfoil hat) working together for the greater good was inspiring and moving. We baked bread, did home workout routines, and got drunk alone in our houses with our friends on Zoom. But just like a good family holiday over summer, what starts as a great relaxing team bonding experience, eventually dissolves into tantrums, passive-aggressive interactions, and extreme boredom. 

To put in frankly with you, dear reader, I’m over it. 

In the effort to keep some kind of exercise regime going on in my life, I have endeavoured to go on hour-long morning walks every day of this lockdown. Truthfully, exercise is a thinly veiled disguise for what it really is – an excuse for me to look over the fences of the nice houses in the area and make judgements about everyone’s front gardens (too many hyper maintained hedges out there, it seems uptight. Let the plants grow, I say!). 

Across the weeks of walking, there has been a tiny glimmer of hope blossoming in the not-too-distant future. It comes with the smell of the fresh jasmine climbing up the sides of houses and the warmth of the sun on my skin as I bravely choose not to head out of the house in the same hoodie that I’ve worn for 24 hours the day before. It even presents in the burn of the sunblock running into my eyes as I begin to sweat. Spring has sprung, and I couldn’t be more grateful. 

Simply put, spring is the greatest season of all. For all you autumn junkies out there, I’m sorry, but you cannot deny the great sense of euphoria one is hit with when walking under the cherry blossoms on Hagley Ave, or seeing the parents scream at their children as they try and attempt “a nice photo for the grandparents” in the daffodils. Spring, to me, is hope. The hope of a great summer spent outside being eaten alive by mosquitos while I drink too many G&Ts with friends. And right now, where my days are filled wondering if I should get off my bed and open another bag of Sour Cream and Chives chips or not, I need as much hope as I can get.