“This is the opportunity for a vast, replenishing distilling”

The God of Stillness has imposed wonder upon us this year – but how to hold on to it? Because now there’s real fear as we struggle to climb out of Covid’s grasp; it’s not working out quite the way it should. The grip of this interloper feels icy and wily and determined, still. Freedom seems suddenly like it’s slipping away from us; it’s all one step forward, two back, advancing then retreating, worrying and fretting then recklessly seizing the semblance of an old life if we can, yet mustn’t.

This new, wary way of being has taught me one urgent lesson this year among Covid’s many chastenings. Seize the joy before it’s too late. Clear the path and just go for it. Those friends who don’t spark joy – ditch them. Slide away from their world, especially the ones who don’t lift you but diminish you in some way. Why bother? Those unenjoyable little rituals of crammed living cluttering up your pre-Covid days – strike them off. The social engagements you really, actually, don’t want to be at – why put yourself through them? This is the opportunity for a vast, replenishing distilling.

Since lockdown has eased in our part of the world I’ve been to only a handful of restaurants, dinner parties, lunches, and said no to some that will not spark joy. Each jewel of an occasion has been cherished, among people I hold dear. I’m not going out to just anything anymore – it has to count.

I’ve learnt that delight now lies in going very small, very local, in a life contracted to its rich, quiet, observant essence. I’m connecting with neighbours in ways I never had before and it feels like a gift. For example, the Cootamundra wattle is blazing in all its splendour and the lovely, elderly gentleman up the road saw me picking it, and ambled across for a chat. He told me he marks the seasons by its winter display and has for decades in these parts; the golden flowers mark the turning of the years for him. “I don’t think I’ll see it for another season,” he said softly. Heart, break. He gazed at the magnificence of the trees and his face said it all: seize the joy. Note the beauty in your world and be grateful for it, before it’s too late.

Eleanor Hall’s wise, warm, thoughtful voice on the current affairs program The World Today was the best thing on ABC Radio for years. I met her in the Darwin newsroom when we were both in our early 20s; we stood out as two raw recruits from “down south” with our too-pale skin and enormous hats. On our first meeting she threw back her head and laughed and the sound rang out to the distant ceiling; this glorious, vivid-living woman was my mate for life from that moment.

Over decades I’ve witnessed her clandestine skill as a painter and heard her speak many times, longingly, of the dream of art school. One day. It was something she never did as she pursued a more academic path through tertiary education, eventually winning a Harkness Fellowship at Columbia University in the US and then another scholarship to study at Oxford. But the dream always nagged, and this year, in the midst of Covid lockdown, Ellie bit the bullet and resigned from the ABC. To go to art school. At last. Seize the joy, before it’s too late.

There’s a little patch of scrubbiness near my place that I’ve planted with secret wonder now the lantana has been eradicated. I could stay here forever, among it all. Every day I’m marvelling at the growing, changing, flowering; all the native plants that have brought back the birds and their indifferent exuberance in the mornings. I have saved these plants on this tiny, neglected patch of land; but more, much more, they have saved me through this long, difficult year like no other. Find the joy. Wherever you can. Seize it. Now more than ever.