I've been thinking a lot about plans recently. The setting of goals, the marking of time.
When it comes to books, I am a mood reader, incapable of sticking to a planned list or schedule of titles but instead choosing my next book based purely on intuition. I think in many ways, this approach has crept into the rest of my decision-making. I rarely set specific goals anymore, but rather let my heart choose its own course, and see what happens.
But last winter as the nights grew darker, a sense of frustration was making its way to the surface. I realised that one goal had become very important to me: I wanted to fall back in love with creating content online.
My 'bookstagram' account had been in chaos for a long time, with patchy engagement from myself and my followers. I longed for an account like those I enjoyed following, with a more consistent theme, brighter colours, and more varied subject matter. I knew I would need a lot more practice taking and editing photos. And I would have to confront my own worst insecurities if I ever wanted to take photos of myself. But the rare thought of setting and achieving a goal was exciting.
As the winter solstice approached, I was quietly sowing seeds for this blog and my Instagram account. For once in my life, I had a plan, and I was eager to see it through.
In my wildest dreams I wouldn't have guessed that a global pandemic would be the biggest obstacle.
When I restyled my blog and Instagram, I used the phrase 'book reviews, travel musings, and slow living.' I wanted to expand my horizons, take photographs that weren't just a flat-lay on a wooden surface.
Here, in lockdown, all thought of visiting beautiful locations to practice my photography skills has been scuppered. Spring day trips and weekends away to seek out aesthetically-pleasing scenery are a thing of the past, and nobody knows when such luxuries will once more be part of our reality.
It has been one month since the lockdown began, and thus far I have found my sense of creativity entirely absent. April is blooming outside, but my bookstagram photos are darker, moodier, and more pared-back than ever, a far cry from the varied and fresh images of which I have dreamt. It seemed like I would have to accept defeat and dislike my account for a while longer. 'That's that,' said my heart. 'The best laid plans of foxes often go awry.'
In the past few days, however, I have felt my perspective begin to shift.
I'm here. I'm alive. I have a camera, editing software, and internet access. Unlike many people, I have access to a garden and nearby open spaces. I have a willing fiance who wants to improve his photography skills, too. I have books to read and review.
And what could be more conducive to practising slow living than one's world shrinking to a single household?
It isn't just the lockdown holding me back, but my own fears and doubts.
Of course, enormous changes to daily life and the threat of coronavirus are bound to exacerbate fears and doubts. It's no surprise that I felt the need to give up, and throw my plans to the four winds, and I do not blame myself or any other creative soul who is experiencing a lack of motivation in these strange, surreal months.
All I can hope for is that this glimmer of inspiration keeps glowing. Even just the tiniest bit. Like the spark of sunlight on the shortest day of the year, when these plans were forged.
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