I awoke one morning this week, looked out of the window, and saw that the world had suddenly turned green again. It was a sight to behold. After months of overcast days, long nights, bare trees and monotone landscapes, the outdoors had flung open the gates to the oasis we all know and love. An ode to brightness, lightness and serotonin. It had passed me by entirely.
Now, as I sit here, on this sleepy weekend, sipping a decaffeinated coffee and reading the promotional newsprint from one of my current favourite clothing brands, I feel awash with a sense peace, having finished a long 7-day stretch of back-to-back on call shifts and post-takes. The rain is pouring, unrelenting, and I can’t help but contemplate how the change of season reflects turning corners and new beginnings. Just like the arrival of colour and greenery to the greyscale urban cityscape, and the recent, long awaited relaxation of COVID-19 restrictions, so much of life can be marred by stress and toil. It’s easy to miss the small details in life.
In the same vein, however, the strife can help us appreciate these small details. Noticing the leaves reappear on the trees provides a sense of perspective, a sense that the world is carrying on around us regardless of our problems.
I think that’s why I feel so strongly about encouraging myself to study the small details in life, in an effort to ground myself. Normally after a set of on calls, during which I’m in a constant sympathetic state from the hectic, manic hospital environment, I find my body is almost deficient in energy; my brain is seeking that same dopamine hit with which it’s been saturated for so many days. But narrowing my focus into a myopic sense of appreciation of the pleasant minutiae, which usually pass us by day-to-day, really helps to settle my mind, transporting it away from the hospital back into the real world. And, in a way, it simply feels like a fresh beginning, shedding your old, on-call skin to christen a renewed hide.
Over the course of this weekend, I’ve managed to take a walk outside and really take an interest in my surroundings. The canopy formed by the trees lining the road outside our cul-de-sac, to the way the sunlight bounces off the glass walled high rises in central Manchester. Cycling into town and feeling the breeze hitting my face, relishing the sensation, my ears filled with the sound of the city. As I return home, the waning sun has turned the sky a deep, golden hue streaked with with flecks of pink, accompanied by the last birdsong of the day before night sets in.
I’m on call again tomorrow, but I think I’m ready to do it all over again.
Bring it on, Monday.
Vasudev Zaver 