I can’t seem to move from the floor, even though there are plenty of other places to sit. As a rule, I enjoy sitting on the floor, but this isn’t a particularly comfortable spot. The day is grey and while I had an idea of what to do with it when I woke up, any desire to follow through seems to have vanished. There’s no real reason for it, but there it is.

When the French press was empty, I made a cup of tea and stood at the balcony door, watching the trees move in the wind, looking out into a distance that I could reach by foot in just a few kilometres. The idea had been to head out there, not because it’s a nice day but because it’s something to do.

But to be honest, I’m tired of finding things to do just for the sake of something to do. I enjoy my time at home, but I also enjoy purposeful activity, and that was noticeably missing. There’s enough to do for the sake of diversion, but doing itself was not the point. And besides, tomorrow is likely to feel like today and the chores could get done then. Maybe there will be a greater sense of urgency.

But urgency is not the same as purpose, and purpose seems to be in short supply at the moment. Our trip to Peru was a life dream to fulfil before we embarked on other life dreams. And I guess I’m feeling a little dream-shy at the moment. What’s to say that the new dreams aren’t snatched away, too?

One could argue, we’ve lived through a pandemic and come out the other side. Isn’t that evidence enough?

One could argue, it’s too soon, take your time, life will settle back to normal. 

Both true. Neither especially comforting.

So I’m sitting on the floor, writing this instead of going out to – what? Be out. Just to be out. Because being out there is certainly more fulfilling than being in here.