We’re all in the same boat, some in wildly different circumstances, but the limitations are real. We can’t go out, not really, not yet. Most of our pandemic year was spent in sunny Southern California. Poor us. Beaches a short drive away, an abundance of sunny, warm days perfect for playing outdoors. Never mind the funny orange skies with ash raining down upon us from the repeated wildfires. I had a car built for the American driver on the wide American roads, sigh. My blessed, sweet car – with its steering wheel installed on the familiar side, roads I could easily navigate with the stereo blaring and windows down, my hair whipping about and Ava in the back with seemingly hundreds of thought-provoking and exhausting questions and thoughts. All that is different now.
My life no longer revolves around jumping in cars for every outing, and I do feel a strange sense of loss. Being in the car back home was a little world onto itself, hot or cold as I deemed necessary, plentiful rows of parking and high speeds. That little zing of excitement when pulling in to make a spontaneous stop at a new strip mall spot or play park we haven’t explored yet.
But when I jump into the right-side driver’s seat and my left hand clumsily reaches for the stick shift to hit the road here in York, none of it feels right. Planning where to park requires hours of psyching myself up. Watching for pedestrians and cyclists, who really are everywhere here, is daunting – must try not to kill anyone with the car today. My confidence as a driver in England is lacking and Julian doesn’t trust me at all after a few close calls – must remember to look right as I enter those roundabouts.
This is adding to my overall sense of lockdown isolation, a prison of my own making given that I live in a highly walkable area of the city. Things open up again soon, thank goodness. Perhaps it is time to make plans once again. It will be nice to go somewhere, someday.
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