Last year, when the lockdown hammer fell and we were sent scuttling to the shelter of our homes, we collectively endured shock, horror, fear, dismay and something akin to grief, as the habitual structures that underpinned ‘normality’ were suddenly pulled out from under our feet.

As the global suffering unfolded and footage emerged of Italians resiliently sharing love and creativity from hemmed-in apartment balconies, I quickly realised my blessings, that the nest we had made ourselves was perched on the rural Northwest coast of Ireland.

In Donegal, land, sea and sky collude to form vast, expansive vistas, and with the sea just a few short steps away, even a 5km limit enclosed you in a bubble of abundant natural beauty.

Before lockdown, Donegal seemed to have blessings and challenges in equal amount. It’s an ideal place for nesting and rearing young, but you’re taking flight against strong winds regarding career and economic opportunities. Numerous families eke out an existence on one income, with mothers sometimes parenting alone while fathers endure long absences from their families working in London, Glasgow or Dublin. Now, with the benefit of lockdown-induced reflection, I realise I was allowing life to be shaped more by the challenges, than the blessings of place.

I had been attempting flight straight into the prevailing, harsh economic winds of Donegal. While nest building on the wild Atlantic seaboard, doctoral-level fine-art and multimedia seemed an irrelevant frivolity. Once fledglings began to fly a little, I cut the cloth of my ambitions to fit, and re-emerged with what I perceived as a more relevant skill-set.

Community volunteering, led to precarious roles in the community and cultural sector. Over time, the few avenues that existed in this space ran their course, so I put my favourite self-care practice to work and set up a small business, as a yoga teacher. Competing in a dispersed and small market, I filled my days with hurry, logistics, child-care, teaching, striving, marketing, selling, seeking, networking, invoicing, emailing, applying, travel, drop-offs, phoning, pick-ups, homework, housework, clicking, double-clicking. I drove the roads of the county, teaching yoga, and sometimes art, technology or wellbeing practices in places as dispersed as Fanad, Falcarragh, Arranmore Island, Portnoo, Gweedore, Ballybofey and Dungloe.

Pre-lockdown ‘normal’ was constructed from these barely questioned, relentless routines. I was aways exhausted, always trying, rarely achieving and barely aware of abundant blessings I was taking for granted. The initial white-knuckle shock of the lockdown eventually relaxed enough to allow a modicum of reflective thought and I gradually began to take stock. Good and bad, habits began to change. As a necessary first step towards sanity, I broke the habit of a lifetime, and turned off the radio and its incessant newsfeeds. I drifted away from daily yoga practice, without the routine of teaching there to support me. Cans of Guinness began to feature on the weekly shopping list. New, positive habits also formed. I remembered to journal almost daily and that led to some poetry writing. I became obsessed for some weeks by mandalas; repeatedly inventing, colouring and admiring them, happily lost in a pleasing dopamine feedback loop. I dusted off long ignored talents like drawing, drumming, singing and guitar. I became more present and available, noticing family moments that might otherwise have been gobbled by the hurry habit.