 |
I finished work on Friday and sat on the sofa and thought about what to do with myself. The night seemed to stretch ahead of me. Friday nights feel very long when you’ve got no-one to talk to in person and nothing to do.
Of course, there are loads of things I could have done. My house needed cleaning, I had a writing course to catch up on, I had hundreds of books to choose from on my bookshelf and Netflix and Amazon to watch, I could have done a workout or some yoga, I could have had a bubble bath and I could have even finished unpacking the last few boxes that remain despite me moving in four months ago. But I didn’t want to do any of those things. None of them were good enough. I was feeling very sorry for myself.
 |
In the end, after posting something on Twitter on a whim, I chatted to a freelance journalist friend on the phone for a few hours and it was great and unexpected and really did brighten my evening up. But I still couldn’t help but thinking of all the things I missed so I wrote a list:
I miss the pub. I miss the feeling of walking into a cosy one when it’s cold outside and I miss seeing the friendly smiling faces of my mates as they walk in and greet me.
I miss those nights that start out as “just the one” and end at 3am staggering into a taxi. I miss dancing around bags on sticky floors. I miss conversations with strangers in bathrooms and taking selfies.
I even miss forgoing the pub for yoga and feeling so smug about it. I miss going home afterwards feeling chilled and restored.
I miss having people over for dinner, squeezed around my table as I ply them with wine while I flap about the stove running completely behind schedule. I miss my kitchen later turning into a disco as we all take turns to choose 90s pop music, 00s indie classics and ska, punk and rock favourites.
I miss meals in restaurants, especially when it’s a spontaneous decision and you don’t know what you’ll end up eating that night until you manage to get a table at a restaurant that has space. I miss eating delicious food someone else has cooked and has not come in a takeaway bag. I miss the kind of conversations you have with friends over a good meal.
I miss house parties - even the ones you don’t really want to go to. I miss thinking ‘I’ll just show my face and then head home’ and instead find yourself having a deep conversation with a total stranger in the kitchen, telling them things about your life that you have never told anyone else as in the nearby living room other party goers dance and sway to thumping music.
I miss getting on a train after work knowing I’ll be with my friends in a different town soon. I miss the anticipation and the excitement. I miss being out of breath having run to get the train on time. I miss text my best friends and saying ‘I’m on my way’. I miss hugging them in doorways and then settling down for either a homecooked food or take away and a film, which we don’t watch because we are too busy chatting and catching up.
I even miss when Friday nights in on my own at home were a novelty. I miss when you are so busy all week being out and about with work and social commitments that a night in on a Friday at home in front of the TV or in the bubble bath is the ultimate luxury.
 |
I know I was just feeling sorry for myself on Friday night and really, nothing was wrong but actually writing this list made me feel a bit better. It reminded me that this is all temporary and I will do all those things again. It also reminded me how much I love and adore my friends (yes I was feeling very sentimental). Of course, it did also make me think about all the things we have lost this year, all those fun times and moments of pure joy and laughter that we didn’t get to experience. Sometimes it feels like you can also see what 2020 would have looked like in a parallel universe.
I loved this article in Refinery 29 about the things we have lost this year, which echoes something I said a few newsletters ago. Marisa Bate writes: “Welcome to 2020: the year of lost opportunities, cancelled plans, trampled hopes and a daily run-in with the ghost of all that could have been. This year, we haven’t just lost things that we had planned – weddings, house moves, job offers – we are haunted by our unknown futures, the ones that were brighter, busier and full of a thousand possibilities which we might now never know.”
Marisa spoke to some experts who suggested some tips for how to feel with this. One advises us to "focus on the present and build positive experiences in the here and now'' while another says: "What I’ve been saying to people in my clinical practice is that it has to be a day-by-day approach. Plan a week ahead at the most and make sure your week is full with productive tasks but also moments of pleasure and relaxation."
I like this idea of thinking about your week ahead. Knowing how I felt this Friday, I know I need to make sure I have a plan for this coming Friday, even if it is doing something nice alone like listen to a podcast in the bath or cooking myself a nice meal. I think what I found hard is that I’d been so busy and then suddenly I realised it was Friday night – when you can’t help thinking you should be having All The Fun – and I had nothing planned. Luckily my weekend got better.
 |
Yesterday a friend and I went on a lovely walk. I cooked something nice and healthy for lunch and then had fish and chips delivered for my tea (what we call dinner up here in the Midlands). Then I took part in a wreath-making workshop (see above). I was meant to be hosting it in person with mulled wine and mince pies but instead we had to do it over Zoom but it was still really nice and now I have a beautiful Christmas wreath for my front door.
I would love to know what you are all missing about life before? Send me an email or message!
Have a good week,
Nicola
Twitter: @Nicola_Slawson | Instagram: @Nicola_Slawson
What caught my attention
This article is about the people who were socially isolated long before the pandemic and how they have been feeling this year. The writer says: “Lonely as a cloud? I am as lonely as an iceberg, an egg, a half carafe of wine. I am lonely as the body is hungry three times a day, hollowed again and again by an ache that does not ease except with the sustenance of connection. The feeling differs from the peace of solitude, which many enjoy, including me at times. Instead, it is a gnawing sadness. Even before the pandemic, a combination of circumstance and choice left me with fewer close ties than I wanted. Every day I forage for connection, and some days I go hungry.”
No sex in lockdown: “enforced abstinence made me realise something major about myself”
I think a lot of people will find this relatable. It’s all about self-esteem and body image and how that can be dependent on someone else saying you are attractive. Charley Ross writes: “It took being unable to have sex with another person for an extended period – no excuses for doing it or not doing it, and no messing around – to realise how tied up my own validation was with somebody else’s approval or body. Now I realise how important it is to work on my relationship with my body – to look after it and to appreciate everything it does for me.”
Why you're reflecting on past mistakes more than ever before
Here’s something else that might resonate by The Single Supplement favourite Rachel Thompson. Here she talks about how the pandemic has made her reflect on past mistakes. She writes: “Spending day after day in my childhood home, I raked over old ground, tending to memories I'd buried long ago. When these had first been forged a decade earlier, I remember feeling vindicated, convinced that others were to blame. But now, amid long months of lockdown, I had a clarity of vision looking back and found myself wanting. Regrets entered my sleep night after night. I dreamed of old friends as if they'd never exited my life. I was haunted by a past I couldn't forget — a past for which I couldn't forgive myself.”
The lowdown
Excited, thrilled & quite emotional to say I am now a trustee of The Hive, an amazing creative venue in my hometown. It’s an arts charity that changed my life. It’s a total dream come true having first attended when I was 13-years old and then working there in my twenties. Read more about what it means to me here.
Two of my best mates have launched a super cool environmentally friendly business The Little Mud Club during lockdown. If you have a child aged 2-7 or have a niece, nephew, neighbour or friend’s kid that age, their adventure packs make really cool unique presents. The whole ethos is about more spending more time outside in nature. Check out their Kickstarter here.
If you didn’t know, I have an agony aunt column for paying subscribers of this newsletter. You can take part even if you don’t want to sign up. Just fill out this form with your burning question or problem and pop your email address in as well. After I write the column, I’ll forward it to you. Your identity will be kept totally anonymous in the version subscribers can see.
Tiffany Philippou and I are putting another masterclass on writing about your life. It’s all about pitching to editors to get your personal essays into publications. We also cover confidence, dealing with rejection and how to keep coming up with fresh ideas. The masterclass will also provide a chance to meet other writers and ask lots of questions. Get your ticket here.
 |
About me
For those who don’t know, I’m Nicola Slawson, a freelance journalist who lives in Shropshire, UK. If you would like to support what I do, please consider subscribing to be a paid supporter of The Single Supplement. If you would prefer to make a one-off contribution, you can also buy me a coffee, here’s the link to my Ko-Fi page. Follow me on Instagram and Twitter.
Did someone forward The Single Supplement to you? Sign up here.
