Wild Bluebells

When Mr Fables invited me to contribute a perspective on The Encouragement Manifesto, my first thought was to be original.

Because in today’s competitive world, where so much media content is discarded and when truth is dismissed by power as fake news, the pressure to hold attention with mere words is as deafening as it is unspoken; as real as it is invisible.

So, I thought, think of something new to say. Be original.

And then immediately I began to reflect, with all the originality of sliced bread, on life under lockdown.

Which quickly reminded me that lockdown for those of us lucky enough to live in a rural idyll hasn’t really been a lockdown at all. We’ve always been a bit socially isolated — and now that our urban friends are isolated too, we enjoy seeing them on Zoom. My small business is no longer at a disadvantage for being based in mid Wales, which has meant I’m rarely able to attend industry events in London. With networking sessions now being conducted online, the playing field has levelled out.

So rather than a lockdown, the pandemic has created, for me and my rural friends, a slowdown.

And slowing down at home has meant I notice more around my home, especially in the hedgerows, trees, fields and sky.

I’ve welcomed the swallows back to our barn, listened to birdsong and identified the singers with my book club, now also a nature detective club, on WhatsApp. I finally know the names of the beautiful wildflowers in the verges of our quiet country lanes and as each crop fades, I look forward to seeing them again next year. I remembered an ancient green lane which in spring is carpeted with heaven-scented wild bluebells. I dug a vegetable patch and eagerly await my first harvest. Something else that requires time and patience. In short, I have found immense pleasure and satisfaction in connecting with nature. And this is, hands down, the least original thing that I could say right now. Every media outlet is brimming with these sentiments, alongside the rediscovered joy of baking bread, making jam and socially acceptable gender stereotyping.

For those not grieving, silver linings abound.

And that’s when the penny dropped.

Originality is overrated.

The breathless pursuit of novelty prevents us from seeing what is already around us, naturally perfect. Nature is not original. Every spring, the daffodils bloom and wilt; in autumn the stags will rut. Our joy and fascination in such sights does not diminish year on year — next April we won’t say, “Oh god, the daffodils have gone with yellow AGAIN”. Or, in September, “Antlers are so medieval. Why don’t they try light sabres?”.

And this is what encourages and lifts me. The predictability of nature as it replicates and renews.

So, the next time I find myself desperate to be original (or, even worse, quirky) I shall try to remember there’s nothing wrong with treading a well-worn path. It often leads to bluebells.