NOTHING TO SAY #5

Nothing is … my salvation

by Claire Mitchell

Written on a good day.

I love nothing in theory.

I once had a busy life, worked and played hard, and would have benefitted from a little idling.

But things took a different turn. Chronic illness cut me down 20 years ago, and my life became a long series of nothing. I lay in my bed watching shadows of trees on the wall as the light changed, trying to still exist. One day at a time.

The most memorable times in my life since my illness have been the moments when I am able to do *something*.

Today, I walked our dog in the forest. It is autumn. Orange leaves are gently drifting to the forest floor. The air is crisp and mushroomy. I watch our whippet sprinting, a white blur against the copper carpet.

For me, this is something. This is a good day.

Being confined to nothing is not always bad. There is time to notice things. I have watched the freckle on my small son's neck grow from year to year. I have paid close attention to the way my daughter draws an eye, each season bringing out the glint, becoming less of a cartoon. Simple things bring joy. My head on a soft pillow before the school run. Batch cooking on a good day to freeze for a bad one.

For me, these are big somethings. The root system of my life.

During the COVID-19 lockdowns, when much of the world was doing nothing, I had a spell of good health. Free from school bugs and flus, from bright lights and busy rooms, I felt alive. I walked for miles in the forest. I cooked every day. I wrote a book. The words just came to me. It was not that I was going fast. Everyone else was finally moving at my own slow speed.

If you see me out in the world, perhaps speaking on a stage, or with a black pint in hand, I will have painted bright red lipstick on. I'll laugh and tell stories. You might think or say, 'you don't look sick'. Yet that is the only something I will do that week or month. Before this moment and long after it, I will do nothing.

And so nothing is also my salvation. The bitter medicine that holds me. Allows me a next day.

I dream of a world where things move slowly, where I could walk again alongside you all.