And so another week passes in lockdown. Seven weeks of homeschool, thirty-five sessions of P.E. with Joe Wicks. Our children at home for the longest period of time since starting nursery. Homeworking, Facetime calls, daily exercise, a seemingly insatiable familial hunger. Dirty dishes piling up like small, obstinate mountains where they lie. A new dishwasher duly ordered – lockdown, it seems, is not the time for domestic martyrdom. Once again no one comes to visit us. The holes in our lino and the coffee stains on the carpet are content to bide their time.
The Scottish First Minister announces that lockdown will continue. Before the end of May, we may able to go out for exercise more than the designated once. Before all this, it is recommended that we wear face coverings when going out shopping or travelling on public transport. I pull a scarf tight over my mouth and nose when I go into town to pick up a prescription. I feel strangely humiliated, devoid of all confidence, unable to look anyone in the eye, self-conscious that I seem to be the only person in the world right now covering up my mouth and nose. The sun is out; there seem to be more cars around than last time I ventured out like this. I scurry home to the comfort of our solitude, relieved that for another month at least, this experience is done. I read that people are over-reacting or under-reacting, sometimes within two minutes of each other. Information is no longer knowledge, but confusion. There are so many experts speaking over each other that I can no longer hear a single thing.
At home, I trim my hair and make barista-style coffee – part of my new repertoire of ‘lockdown skills.’ Online tutorials are the new curriculum – when the world gets small, you can learn to do just about anything you want. My son and I practise Gaelic on Duolingo, attempting phrases with all the lyric cadence of ‘That is a chicken and Irn Bru,’ which I’m sure will prove most useful. A new Gaelic word presents itself to me, a term that conveys a sense of longing or belonging to a place and is often associated with feelings of homesickness or nostalgia – cianalas. I realise this is the word I have been seeking to explain my attachment to my home county, Caithness, for a long time now. It occurs to me that perhaps I have never heard a more beautiful word in my whole life.
I read, a book called Quiet by Susan Cain, a book about introversion that starts with the quiet courage of Rosa Parks – a still, small voice that paved a way to making the world a better place for all of us. I am comforted by this book, the way it speaks to me with each page I turn – ‘that’s me!’ ‘that’s me!’ – although of course, I suppose I already knew most of these things about myself. Introverts, Cain says ‘…often feel as if they express themselves better in writing than in conversation…Many have a horror of small talk, but enjoy deep discussions.’ I have always suspected I am better in writing than in person. My lack of finesse at small talk, too, is vindicated – not often being the domain of discussions on what you think happens when you die, or where your dreams go when you wake. This book stems the flow of thought that declares extroversion as the ideal temperament available to us. I am reminded of the famous quote by Gandhi: ‘Be the change you want to see in the world.’ ‘Shout about the change you want to see in the world,’ would have been quite a different suggestion. Some of us, I think, are content to simply ‘be’.
Happy to be ourselves, then, we stride out on our daily walk along the coast path, delighting at a group of homing pigeons, out too on their daily exercise and circling above us, sky dancers in the Springtime. I wonder at their desire to stay close, to stay together – do they not taste the freedom of the salty, coastal air? I think perhaps they too possess that sense of cianalas – that feeling that is more and beyond any other word I can find in the language of my upbringing. Something stronger than birth, deeper than the paths of my memory awakes within me.
And I turn the corner, feeling the pull of the land that beckons me back home.
Gx
Gail, this is so beautifully written. Several things you wrote about resonated with me. First, I, too, am an introvert and can completely relate with your feelings around that. Honestly, I used to beat myself up over it, feeling as if I was somehow broken because I couldn’t force myself to operate properly in an extraverted world. Now, I see my personality trait as a gift and simply the way God made me. I have learned to embrace it.
Second is ‘cianalas’. Awhile ago, I learned the Portuguese word for the same concept – saudade. It’s such a beautiful word to describe feelings that are almost indescribable. It describes my feelings for Scotland. 🙂
And third, I have a decorative wooden sign on the table next to my writing chair with the Gandhi quote. 🙂 Hope you continue to stay healthy and safe. x
Thankyou so much, Wendy, for your comment and for telling me those three things – love them. It seems that a lot of people find a sort of spiritual home in Scotland, regardless of birth. I love that many languages seem to have that ‘soul place’ word, so beautiful. Hope you and your loved ones continue to stay safe and well too. X
Another lovely, thoughtful post, and now you’ve got me thinking about language and how much I still have to learn about Caithness. When and by whom was Gaelic spoken in Caithness? What was the primary language in the 19th century? We’re in the same upside down state of conflicting messages here. It’s confusing. Stay well. xxoo
Thankyou Kim! On the language side, you’ll hear a lot more about that in the book by George you’ve ordered. It’s widely thought that Gaelic was not commonly spoken in Caithness, but the reality was much more complex than that I think. We have a rich Pict/Celt/Nordic heritage here. There is also the matter of Caithness Scots which is something of a language in itself! X
Another beautiful post Gail, so expertly expressed. Thank you for writing your thoughts every week. xx
And thankyou for reading them, Suzanne! Hope you and the family are doing well. X
I’ve never heard of cianalas before, how lovely. I love how other languages have created words to express emotions that are otherwise hard to explain. I’m also really looking forward to the next time we meet up, so that we can have a full on conversation in Gaelic about chicken and Irn Bru!! It’s so random x
Isn’t it, Andrea? My youngest’s favourite thing about Gaelic so far is that ‘Irn Bru’ in Gaelic is still ‘Irn Bru’!x
A lovely and thoughtful post. We are getting in to a mixed routine of working and school and exercise. It’s hard but I like our little bubble. I don’t like going outside much. It is hard and there are so many conflicting information. That book sounds lovely and I hope you are managing some writing too. Lots of love xxx
Thanks Susan, I’m glad you are all getting into a good routine, and I can understand you not enjoying being outside just now. I am doing a bit of writing at weekends but not as much as I normally do. Hope you are still managing to fit it in when you can, too. X
I too have read ‘Quiet’ and kept thinking this is me, as I turned the pages. I couldn’t put it down and was excited to see you had read and reflected on it. I remember trying to explain to my fellow teachers/management at the time why open plan classrooms were difficult for some of our children – I was told there was no evidence that open plan classrooms were detrimental to learning! The peace and quiet I craved and my pupils craved was often interrupted by the other 3 classes in the area.
This book helped me realise that some environments do not suit us introverts. I no longer teach in that school and am much more aware of how to help others with learning – I often recommend this book.
Enjoyed your writing and learning a little more of the Caithness area.
Thanks Lisa! I’m so glad you also found the book useful. It certainly makes you think about how different principles could be applied in educational establishments and organisations, doesn’t it? How fantastic that you have been able to apply it in your work. X