How Melbourne’s coronavirus lockdown has changed me

I have lived in the same house for 25 years and it has taken a lockdown to realise that I have never really experienced the street during daytime

I have a confession. I quite like my lockdown existence. It’s not something I would have chosen to do. And I know I would feel differently if this was to be my way of life forever. Or indeed if anyone in my family contracted the coronavirus (thankfully, this isn’t the case). But given it’s beyond my control, I accepted early on the reality of this situation. And it hasn’t been easy. My wife and I live in Melbourne. Our two children live overseas. They would like to come home for Christmas, but this isn’t looking likely. Melbourne’s lockdown has been a test of resilience.

I understand this perspective doesn’t apply to everyone, but my experience is that once you accept the situation, however uncomfortable or unfair it may be, life becomes easier. This doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try to right wrongs but there comes a point where, for your own mental health, you need to find a way of life that accommodates the new reality. Best put your head down, keep working if you can, keep busy to ensure you have something to show for these months when we finally emerge from lockdown. Hopefully, key relationships, business, finances and health all remain basically intact or are at least recoverable.

The lockdown experience has changed my world view. I have lived in the same house for 25 years and it has taken a lockdown to realise that I have never really experienced the street during daytime. It’s a quiet cul-de-sac but during the weekday there are delivery vans, council trucks, tradesmen, people walking to the railway station, joggers and cyclists and amblers. I didn’t know that this street, my street, was so busy, so full of life. I have spent all that time working, leaving before dawn, getting home in the dark, only ever really seeing my street, my neighbourhood, when it was quiet, lifeless even.

And then there is the unique experience of witnessing in minute detail the passage of the seasons. I haven’t really experienced the solitude, the isolation, the chill of a Victorian winter since I was a teenager living in a Housing Commission house with an open fire in country Victoria. My study faces west. In July, the sun sets deep in the northwest throwing light onto my computer screen and sending shafts of gorgeous late-afternoon light across the full length of my block.

Who knew there was such wonder and beauty in a microcosm of Melbourne suburbia? I had never previously connected the passage of time, the change of seasons, the angle of the sun, with the concept that there is a bigger canvas upon which we play out the minutiae of our lives.

And then there’s the routine. The daily bike ride. The exciting trip to the supermarket. The sense of accomplishment in trying a new dish, of having leftovers for lunch and realising that this is better (and cheaper) than a food court sandwich grabbed on the go.

It won’t be long before Melburnians can set about rebuilding the world we once knew. And on that glorious day of liberation they will step forward into the cafes, the sporting grounds, the music venues, maybe even the airport they left behind all those months ago.

Me, I’m not so sure I will embrace liberation. Maybe I will remain at home, Zooming here and publishing there, refusing to let go of a world of which I have become quite fond. Like those Japanese soldiers who didn’t realise the war had ended, or who simply refused to surrender, perhaps I will linger hermit-like, long-haired and holed up in my lockdown lair, savouring my diet of leftovers and pondering the angle of the setting sun.