The Comfort of ‘Home’ During Social Isolation
Your house as a home and gratitude for the little things in moments of crisis …
“Stay at home.” It’s what we’ve been hearing seemingly non-stop for the past few weeks as the current Coronavirus pandemic continues to affect the U.K. I feel extremely grateful that I have a home to remain in while our front line workers in the NHS, food stores and the rest risk their health daily by being at work. Home is a funny old word. There's a fondness attached to it; a sense of belonging. Home is a place where you should feel comfort and contentment; you should feel safe. Home should bring with it the confidence to dash from room to room with nothing on, dripping water everywhere because all the towels are in the wash (we’ve all been there, team). A word that’s been used so much recently, it’s made me realise that home is much more than the place in which you live.
For the past 7 years or so I’ve been lucky enough to have loved living in the city, and Edinburgh in particular strikes that perfect balance of being busy and sprawling enough to let you get lost in sometimes, while still retaining an air of small-town charm that so many metropolitan destinations often lack. Because really, while city life is exciting, fast-paced and full of goings-on, I've always considered myself a country girl at heart.
“When we told our friends we were moving out of the city for a while, I was surprised by the number of grimace-accompanied reactions we were met with; “oh really...well, I’m sure it’ll be fine, I guess...maybe” and, “but what if you want to go out for brunch? Do they have organic zero-waste artisan coffee shops there?””
I grew up right beside a big open field in Scotland's beautiful Perthshire. Some years it was filled with tufty-headed barley, others it was used to store hay bales, or on the odd occasion, some rebellious runaway sheep. My summers were spent splashing down at the River Earn, playing about in the freezing water, running among the trees like Tarzan (no really, ten-year-old me actually did have hair very like Tarzan's - shout out to my curly gals) and building campfires to toast big fat marshmallows over before tumbling home for warm baths and bubbling bowls of mum's homemade soup. Sounds pretty idyllic, right? Honestly, it kind of was (if we ignore the nights at 16 when my pals and I drank cider under the bridge); and I am forever grateful to have grown up where I did.
When I found myself living among the bright lights and cobbles of Edinburgh as I began university, I would always say "I'm off home this weekend" when I spoke about travelling back to my parents' house. My student accommodation was just 'the flat'; a temporary stop-over on the university chapter of my life.
Don't get me wrong, my various living arrangements throughout university were comfortable enough, but I tried my best to shake the 'grubby student flat' status with each one. There were the flatmates who never washed up, or who left bits of doughnut out for our old tenement flat’s inevitable resident mouse, “because it’s got a cute face” (girl, no). I would buy enough cheap display cushions to start my own sodding cushion shop, and you know those red berry IKEA candles? They will now always remind me of that wee room in my student halls with the hideous green carpet and paper thin walls. No matter how many rowdy, booze-fuelled parties were going on around me, I could always retreat to my little cushioned bubble in that room and feel totally zen (or, depending on the day of the week, feel like utter crap because of how many tropical VK's and jelly shots I'd had the night before - sorry mum!). It was never quite 'home', but it would do.
Photograph: @moide.j
After graduating, I continued to live and work in Edinburgh, and rented a wee flat with a tall, bespectacled, ginger man for three years (not as creepy as it sounds folks, I promise - he is in fact my boyfriend and a bit of a legend). It was in a lovely leafy area in the west of Edinburgh, with the Union Canal and a big park nearby which was obviously key for my daily dog spotting schedule.
Life motto: if you can't have your own dog because your flat is the size of a shoebox, head to the park and spy on those woofers belonging to other people!
It wasn't perfect - there was no big field next door, the carpets were essentially threadbare and the hot water tap on the bath was a mere trickle; but in time, with lots of love and loaves of banana bread scenting the kitchen, it began to feel like home. Now, I find myself about half an hour outside of Edinburgh living what I like to call my ‘retired suburban dream’ (I’m 26 with granny tendencies; I’m sure many will be able to relate). An opportunity arose to save a bit of money by living somewhere much less pricey, and while I was pretty gutted to burst that city bubble at first, it too now has that familiar feeling of safety and comfort - and there is an equally excellent dog-spotting park just across the road!
When we told our friends we were moving out of the city for a while, I was surprised by the number of grimace-accompanied reactions we were met with; “oh really...well, I’m sure it’ll be fine, I guess...maybe” and, “but what if you want to go out for brunch? Do they have organic zero-waste artisan coffee shops there?”. City life is one of ease and endless entertainment. Fancy some Vietnamese food at 3am? Sure! Spontaneous night of fizz, frills and frivolity on the dancefloor of CC Bloom’s with the ease of home being just a ten minute cab ride away? Let’s do it! Having fun at our fingertips is something I’ve certainly been missing since moving out of Edinburgh but unsurprisingly, have managed just fine.
Now, home has taken on a new meaning. The U.K, and indeed the rest of the world, is living in a time filled with uncertainty and unfamiliarity. We’re all a little scared and apprehensive of the months ahead, and I know I’m not alone when I say there have been times in recent weeks when I’ve gone to bed full of anxiety after a day on my sofa, refreshing the news app on my phone every half hour. “Stay at home”, we’re told, over and over again. Home is the only place we’re allowed to be. And how lucky we are, those of us with four walls, a roof above us and a fridge with food in it. How lucky are we to have someplace to stay ‘home’ and stay safe.
But besides all that, home isn’t just the building you live in. It’s not the furniture you choose, or what side of the street you live on, or the name of your town. It’s not how many hip brunch spots you have nearby, or the barley in the field next door. Home is the people you surround yourself with; the handshakes, high-fives and hugs that help us through each day and that I’m longing for. Because in the midst of the current Coronavirus pandemic, it’s not the cafes or the bars or clothes shops that I find myself missing; it’s the people. It’s looking forward to hugging my friends once this is all over, and baking laughter into cakes with my sister; it’s lunch with mum and dad or chatting to an old colleague you bump into in the street.
While I’m grateful for a roof over my head during this time, I’ve also never been more grateful for the people in my life, and I can’t wait to give them all the biggest squeeze just as soon as it’s safe to do so. Until then, I’ll be staying home.”
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Thank you so much to the wonderful Rachel for contributing this gorgeous piece. You can find her via her newly relaunched blog at www.fairleyrachel.com or on Instagram at @fairley_rachel.