this staying home thing could be transformational

Somewhere along the way I taught my little guy about savouring. I don’t remember when exactly, and I’m not particularly good at doing it myself, but it was a lesson he took to heart. Often, just as I’m about to gobble down my last delicious mouthful of honey-drenched crumpet, he will look reproachfully at me over the top of his quarter-eaten, jam-covered crumpet and say, “Cec! You didn’t savour it!” And I will guilty admit that, indeed, I did not savour it, before praising him up for his excellent savouring skills. He often blows me away with his ability to hold back, hold on, delay gratification and relish every little morsel of his sweet treats. It is surely remarkable for a boy his age to be able to do that? At least I find it remarkable.

Savouring has to be a perfect example of mindfulness, doesn’t it, if mindfulness is deliberately choosing to notice something? Savouring is taking the time to be very present in the moment and feel all the feels - the tastes, the sights, the smells, the sounds - and appreciate them. (That would be the main difference to mindfulness. Mindfulness suspends judgement and notices what is, without deciding whether it is good or bad. Savouring adds an element of pleasure to the noticing.) Savour - squeeze every last drop of goodness out of the moment and hold it close to your heart. It’s a way to identify the good that is around us when sometimes we can’t see it through the mess of life.

I am reading Julia Baird’s book “Phosphoresence. On awe, wonder & things that sustain you when the world goes dark.” (Could there be a more appropriate book for this time. Or a more beautiful cover?!). She sees savouring as one way of getting through dark times. And there’s research to prove it. There is also research that shows the richer people are, the less likely they are to savour life’s pleasures. Julia Baird quotes Jordi Quiodbach: “experiencing the best things in life... may actually mitigate the delight one experiences in response to the more mundane joys of life, such as sunny days, cold beers and chocolate bars.” Or as Julia puts it, “a sense of pleasure can be dulled over time by repitition and abundance”. Too much of a good thing means we stop enjoying the good things.

Which makes me wonder if our enforced isolation might present us with an opportunity, not just a loss. I’m putting this out there tentatively, because I know I write from a place of safety and privilege. For many, isolation is placing them under stress and in danger. I do not want to minimise the horror and upheaval of this time.

But for those of us whose needs are met at this time, maybe our senses will be heightened by this isolation. Perhaps in being deprived of many of the things that give us pleasure and meaning, we can better savour the goodness of our lives. As our sensory overload is reduced, is it possible we will notice more, appreciate more, enjoy more? Not just when we are released from our homes and can sally forth into the world once more, but right here, right now in the four walls of our houses.

Maybe in staying home, we will rediscover some joy of living, right when we think much of the joy of life has been taken from us.

I hope so.