Xeno.

A couple of years ago, I ordered a beautiful seafoam green vintage typewriter online. The first words I typed up were the words of my favourite poem - The Invitation by Oriah Mountain Dreamer. There is a certain quality to typing up words this way. Even now, I remember sitting at my tiny desk punching them in precisely and mindfully; I knew they were important. If you’re not familiar with the poem, it can be described as a sort of call to arms, an evocation to live life to the fullest - the last line a stark and timely question: I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away. 

Over the last few weeks, the world as we know it has changed and it’s strange, odd and scary, but, if you’ve known seasons of pain or discomfort, you also know the beauty, grace and surprising clarity they can yield. Setting aside the inevitable anxiety and pain of all that is unfolding, this giant pause has given us space and time to breathe again and realign with who we are and what we love.

The world spins madly, until it doesn’t. Some things seem important, until they just don’t. If anything, this period of ‘lockdown’ has emboldened everything we hold dear, everything that matters. Family. Friends. Community. Connection. Love. Hugs. Laughs. Nature. A roaring fire. Strong coffee. Meals made from scratch. Salty sea water on your skin. Fresh air in your lungs. A text (or letter) from someone you like. 

With so much uncertainty, perhaps the bravest thing we can do is to continue making brave brushstrokes from the heart. How you spend your days is, after all, how you spend your life and, if what you hold dear has been missing from your days, you have been given a great, big opportunity to invite it back in. 

Over the last few days, nature has been my sanctuary; the gentle pull of the waves is medicine for an anxious mind so I’ve found myself walking on the beach a lot. Early this morning, there was a woman walking her dog. From afar, bundled in a giant jacket and scarf, she smiled and waved. I did the same back and it dawned on me that THIS is the goodness buried underneath the crap. True, it’s not unusual for a passing stranger to smile and wave on the beach but rarely, if ever, do I take notice. But this morning, it felt huge. 

These weird times have distilled the essence of those seemingly inconsequential moments - the ones that really and truly matter - into their purest form; a smile from a stranger, an exchange with the cashier. There is a word for it: Xeno, or, ‘the smallest measurable unit of human connection, typically exchanged between passing strangers - a flirtatious glance, a sympathetic nod, a shared laugh about some odd coincidence - moments that are fleeting and random but still contain powerful emotional nutrients that can alleviate the symptoms of feeling alone.’ In this moment - in this weird and unnerving moment - I am thankful that I am not alone, that none of us ever truly are.