Covid-19 was a horrible time for most of us. Isolated, afraid, unable to see loved ones, and uncertain of what the future held, it was hard. So, so hard. 

But, there was one ‘positive’ thing that came out of it. 

Urgency. 

Trapped inside our homes, staring out the windows of our homes with endless room to reflect, ruminate and reminisce, we gained something incredibly precious: perspective. 

Most people that I know, myself included, had moments of clarity. 

Clarity that woke us up to the reality of life. That it is short. Far shorter than we think. Frighteningly shorter. And it is so incredibly precious.

I remember my own Covid-19 experience was spent in Vancouver, living with my ex fiancé, trapped in my small apartment, trying to navigate the tensions of the relationship. I wasn’t alone but I felt alone. Far away from friends and family back in Europe, I couldn’t travel, couldn’t seek solace or comfort, and was forced to reckon with the reality that I didn’t think I was actually all that happy. Headaches quietly pounded throughout my days, my menstrual cycle started doing bizarre things, and I began to shed weight unexpectedly. 

I would find myself each night blinking into the dark thinking, ‘is this it? Have I ‘made’ it and this is it?”

Ostensibly, I had it all. The apartment, the beautiful city to live in (Vancouver, no less), the well-paid behavioural science job that I loved, the instagram-perfect relationship, the big overseas wedding all planned out. But with the silence that came with the solitude of the pandemic, the inner voice inside grew louder. And so my Covid experience, whilst incredibly isolating, was a period of radical growth, digging deep, introspection, self-awareness, self-acceptance and alignment. A period of intense self-connection. 

I am not alone in this. Most people that I speak to had a pretty profound pandemic experience. Traumatising and painful for some, it remains a period of reflection and deepening self-knowledge that led to insight.

How many of us became aware that we didn’t love the job we were in? I’d argue most of us. Entrepreneurialism grew, virtually everyone trained to be a coach, consultant, or freelancer (it seems) and, when possible, we moved countries, switched gears, and did something different. 

Relationships also started and ended, divorces went through the roof, and we questioned friendships, professional relations, and did something about it. 

Aware of our own mortality, we took health tests, started working out, cut out meat, made sourdough, and prioritised our health.

The pandemic inspired introspection which instigated action. 

None of us knew if, or how it would end. We saved up, we stayed in, and we made a plan. 

But now, I wonder, where are those plans? What happened to that introspection?

Russia’s war in February (at least for me) catapulted into our lives as a major distraction. Shocked to our core that World War 3 was seemingly breaking out on our doorstep, suddenly Covid-19 was over, things were back to normal, and we had a new existential risk. 

That existential risk was all too close to home for me. As a half Russian myself (spending much of my childhood in Moscow), with my family now essentially exiled from there, it was very real. With my father now living in Ukraine and the rest of my family based out of Eastern Slovakia, in the city of Kosice where I was born, right in the nuclear zone next to Ukraine, my world tipped even further off its axis. I was floored. I was sick. I was terrified. 

And so, I fell even deeper into introspection. After spending weeks pacing my apartment, clutching my chest, trying to control my breathing and force food down me, very much now single and very much feeling alone and far from home, I reckoned with my mortality. I really believed that we all might die in an imminent nuclear holocaust. I was looking up bunkers in Europe to hide in. I was tempted to order iodine tablets on Amazon. I was also looking for ways to get my father out of Ukraine. Figuring out funding, refugee support, safe havens. I thought I’d never see him again. I knew I could never go back to Russia. I had to let go of my past, my history, my childhood memories. I had to turn my back on them. I felt sick, lost, alone. As terrified I was – not sleeping, not eating, not thinking straight – something miraculous happened. 

My self-connection went through the roof. As I went deeper into myself and I began to get even deeper clarity on what I needed to find fulfilment. For however little time I had left. 

Fast forward a few months, and my life looks very different now – and so much better for it. More on that in another post. My father’s still in Ukraine, but I am in Europe. Happier, healthier, more awake, more alert. More melancholy - yes. More aware of the horrors of this world and the brevity of life - yes. But I am grateful.

I feel extremely lucky I had this wake up call, that utter despondency wasn't an option for me. Life’s importance bludgeoned its way into my psyche and since then, I’ve viewed things very differently. I refuse to work a corporate job that drains or exploits me. I refuse to live in a country or city that I do not enjoy. I refuse relationships that do not nourish me. I refuse to be unwell. I prioritise therapy, coaching, embodiment work, healthcare, and activities that bring me joy. I prioritise being extremely discerning about who I associate with. I prioritise investing into my self-connection more than anything. I prioritise listening to myself unconditionally. And when I cannot hear myself, I stop, and wait, until I do.

What about the rest of us?

My worry is that most of us haven’t had the admittedly strange privilege of this radical wake up call. Covid came to a slow and unsuspecting end. Travel opened up. Things went back to normal. We jumped back onto planes, booked our holidays and backpacking adventures in, returned back to our corporate jobs for that lovely stable income, routine, and colleagues, resumed life as normal. Sure, maybe we were in a different role. A different company. Maybe we were in a different city. But really, life has returned to what it was before. We’re back to that treadmill. We’re fine. That urgency has gone. That inner introspection has faded.

We just want to get on with it. We’re fine. 

But I would argue that nothing really has changed. 

Yes, the pandemic has gone – things may look different, but our lives are still short and precious. The world remains volatile, uncertain, complex and ambiguous. More now, than ever, perhaps.

 

AI takeover, lay offs, climate change, constant war, refugees, cancer, disease…

The world is still bleak.

And yet, what have you done since the pandemic? All those ideas, all that insight, the epiphanies, the realisations, the knowledge you gleaned through those long dark days of being only with yourself – where are they now?

Time is still ticking. And we have less time than we think. 

We may not have the silent blessing of solitude and space to introspect and be with ourselves like we did when we were in lockdown, but the act is no less important. The urgency remains. We just don’t see it. Busy on planes, back at offices or with our friends, we go about our days pushing that nagging voice back into the recesses of our minds. 

I admit I am worried. I am worried that we are back to disconnection. Back to ignoring the tappings, that little voice, within. We’re back to floating through life, in a state of somewhat happiness, ‘things are okay’, and ‘I’ll be fine’. And I know we deserve more. We really, really, deserve more.

So here I am, fighting for more for all of us. It might sound trivial and small, but it isn’t. Through coaching the process of self-connection, I am helping people receive more clarity, understanding, and direction of what they need to do to truly feel fulfilled, and build an action plan to get there. 

Where might you be in 10 years if nothing changes? If you continue to float through and ignore that voice within? If you never know what it is trying to tell you? If you live a life only half lived? What then?

We must risk trying. We must risk it. Because if not now, when?

P.S. Whether you agree or disagree, I’d love to hear from you. Perhaps I am worrying needlessly. Perhaps we are all, in fact, fine, and our lives are flawless. What do you think? I’d love to hear from you and what you think. DM me on LinkedIn or email me.