The lockdown deprives us of that precious and undervalued commodity, choice

(First published in the Manawatu Standard and on Stuff.co.nz, April 15.)

I’m writing this on a glorious Easter Sunday morning. From where I sit in what I grandiosely refer to as my office, which in reality resembles nothing so much as a medieval monk’s cell, I look out on the street. It’s a good vantage point from which to observe a passing parade of walkers, runners, cyclists and even horse riders.

Being on the edge of town, our street is semi-rural and relatively quiet, which makes it popular with walkers. Some are regulars whose faces are familiar to me. But in the weeks since the Covid-19 lockdown began, the number of passers-by has multiplied.

I don’t recognise these new faces, which tells me they’re from outside our neighbourhood or – far more likely – that they’re locals who either don’t usually get the opportunity to go for a stroll or who, for one reason or another, wouldn’t normally think of doing it.

It’s a lockdown phenomenon, then, but a beneficial one. Eager for some fresh air and respite from being house-bound, people are taking to the streets. In the process, they’re getting acquainted with their local neighbourhoods, possibly for the first time.

I might add that they’re getting acquainted with their neighbours too, because a psychological side-effect of the Covid-19 crisis is that people suddenly feel a sense of communal solidarity – a feeling that we’re all in this together. This has the effect of breaking down the barriers of reserve that often deter people from exchanging greetings with strangers or striking up a conversation with the person next door.  

Another benign consequence of the lockdown is that the absence of vehicles has made streets quieter and more pedestrian-friendly. Walking is therefore not only more pleasurable, but it’s also generally safe to step off the footpath in order to maintain social distancing from anyone coming the other way.

And here’s something else. The people I see out walking every day are a demographic cross-section, from the very young to the elderly. But what’s especially noticeable is the number of young families out together, either on foot or on bikes.

For many kids, having all this leisure time with their parents must be something of a novelty. Those with working parents, which means a very high proportion of New Zealand children, must relish having their mums and dads home with them.

I imagine the eventual return to normality, if there is such a thing,  will be just as tough for some parents, mothers especially, as for their kids. There’s a widely held view that mothers find being at home with their children stressful, but that’s not universally true. 

While it’s unfashionable to admit it, some resent being forced by economic circumstances – or just as often, by social expectations – to pursue careers, and would rather be full-time parents regardless of the financial disadvantages.

And as it is for kids, so it is for dogs. Over the past two weeks there’s been a steady procession of dogs and their owners past our front gate – far more than I’d normally see.

Some of these will be dogs that usually get their exercise in parks and open areas too distant to walk to and therefore off-limits under the lockdown rules, but my guess is that many of them are normally left to languish alone at home during the day. They too have reason to be delighted with the lockdown and may be excused for sulking when they find themselves on their own again.

As for people like my wife and me, being confined to barracks is no great hardship. Social isolation is how many in our age group live for much of the time anyway.

For those like us, the main challenge posed by the lockdown is a psychological one, and a piffling one at that. Being forced to stay at home with only our own company induces an unfamiliar state of ennui, which is best described as a vague feeling of lethargy and listlessness arising from lack of stimulation.

We have everything we need except that most precious and undervalued commodity, choice: choice about how to spend our time, who to spend it with, where to go and when. But the fact that we normally enjoy such choice is a reminder of how privileged we are. It can’t be compared with the hardship, loneliness and stress many people are experiencing.

My wife and I have a guaranteed (if modest) income from the state, no mortgage or rent to pay, no jobs and therefore no anxiety about losing them, and no kids to keep engaged while the lockdown drags on.

In as much as anyone can have certainty in their lives, we do. And it’s uncertainty, perhaps more than anything, that makes the coronavirus crisis so worrisome: uncertainty about when and if it will be over, and uncertainty about the huge social and economic damage that could be done in the meantime.