I've been missing the outdoors since lockdown started, so I've spent $265 trying to make my home feel like a park
- I love living in the city, but my family has been missing the outdoors since the UK went into quarantine.
- My 6 year old is also autistic and needs a lot of physical activity to regulate her moods, so being limited to a once-daily walk wasn't going to cut it.
- To turn my home into a park, I've bought a trampoline for my daughter, fake grass for picnics, and I pick up weekly fresh flowers to bring the outdoors in. All to the tune of $265.
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I'm not one of those fish-out-of-water city dwellers. Despite my rural upbringing, I was born for this place: I'm not a hiker or a camper, I dislike creepy crawlies, and I sulk when I'm caught in the rain. Basically, cut me and I bleed concrete.
But I'm a human being, so I crave time outdoors. Fresh air, greenery, and movement are essential to my mental health, and with a small child to entertain, being outside had long been a staple of our existence.
Note the past tense: "had been." As a result of the rampaging virus that has locked down countries around the world, we all now have limitations on our use of the outdoors. If I was going to be melancholy, I'd call it a ration on fresh air, but comments like that won't do anyone any good. (Though… did you notice how I managed to get it in anyway?)
We live in a third-floor apartment, and not having our own garden had never bothered me before this; I was actually glad for the push factor that made us regularly burst out of our four walls, spilling into shared spaces. We don't really live in a flat; we live at the park, the botanical gardens, the city, the beach. They were happy and sociable days and these activities made me feel alive.
My strategy for moving the outdoors in
So when outdoor trips were restricted to just once-daily exercise, I knew we'd need to make some changes. Then, when the government in my country (the UK) threatened to revoke even those privileges, I felt a rising panic in my chest. And I felt the walls closing in.
We've already missed out on the happiest moments of the year, like beach weekends with friends, family trips to the Lake District, al fresco restaurants, outdoor sports camps, playground picnics, and woodland workshops for the wee one. And it sucks. We follow the rules for the greater good, as everyone should, but it doesn't mean it comes at no cost.
Speaking of costs, all those dissolved activities would have cost something, financially speaking. So I've been putting that money to work as best I can to mitigate the effects of spending too much time indoors.
We bought a trampoline
Number one on the shopping list was a trampoline. Apologies to my lovely downstairs neighbors, but needs must. My 6 year old is autistic, which means she needs a lot of physical activity to help regulate her moods, and also to help her get some rest at night. Last week, before the trampoline's arrival, she was out of bed at 10:15 pm, sobbing uncontrollably because she couldn't sleep. Some countries have even made concessions for autistic people in lockdown, but alas - not here.
So we've been using YouTube workouts and going for a daily walk, but it doesn't come close to my daughter's normal routine of swimming, tearing around with friends, sports clubs, bike rides, and the Junior Parkrun. So, bounce she must, and bounce she shall.
I'm buying fresh flowers
What else? Well, I've been buying more flowers than Elton John, just to feel that outdoorsy freshness inside, and bring in a boost of cheerful colour. They're lovely, and research shows that bringing flowers indoors has a measurable impact on health and happiness. Win-win, really. (And the daffodils are quieter than the trampoline, the neighbors will be relieved to know.)
I bought a green carpet to simulate 'grass'
Similarly, I wanted to trick our monkey brains into feeling like we're outside when we're not, so I ordered a big green blanket to become the "grass" for indoor picnics. On the one hand, this could be the most depressing sentence I've ever written, but on the other hand - in the circumstances - it feels like making lemonade. Did you know that during World War II, birthday children blew out candles on a cardboard cake? Acting out certain rituals still provides meaning; we still get something from it.
I bought myself a new pair of running shoes
Less wholesome, though, is this final indulgence. I only started running four months ago, so my shoes haven't exactly taken a Forrest Gump-style drubbing. And I'm no Usain Bolt. But for as long as this form of exercise provides my main time outdoors, I want to take pleasure in every moment of it. And that's exactly what I said to my husband as I explained why £130 ($160 - on top of the $265 on other items) would soon be showing up on our credit card bill, for a custom-colored pair of Nike Pegasus running shoes. (Pink and red because I'm all about the subtlety.) Like most people, I don't tend to stare at my feet while I run, so this is an entirely frivolous and ridiculous luxury. But right now, frankly, that's just what I need.
Because… Well, it's all a bit much, isn't it?
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