Island Life
If you don't know, I was born and raised on an island. Most people find it quite curious that my whole family lives on islands: my sister in Hawaii, my mom still on Nantucket (where I was born and raised), my dad in Bali, and I am still primarily based in Sicily. Each of these islands has a very distinct feel and they are all very far apart. Yet, there are some similarities. When you live on an island, your immediate life is contained by the boundaries of the water. Your world grows a little bit smaller, your options are limited, decisions are reduced.
What popped into my head this morning is the saying, "No man is an island." I did a quick Google search to see who exactly was going around saying such things. It turns out his name was John Donne and he didn't actually write island, he wrote Iland, way back in 1600s England. The phrase is included in one of many poems he wrote while battling a severe illness. It has come to be used as an expression to say that we can't do it alone, that isolation is not good for mankind, and that we need community. While there are other interpretations, I'm going with this interpretation rather than explore the political maneuvers of 17th century England.
John's words can feel quite fitting right now. Due to the pandemic, most of us have been isolated, restricted, or otherwise cut off in some way from some things. Like island living, our options are limited, travel is curtailed, and our immediate communities have shrunk considerably.
As a native islander (and serious introvert), I probably navigate this more easily than others. I find freedom in knowing my options are limited. Right now, this looks like giving myself permission to hibernate: to linger longer in bed, to read more books, to scroll through photos, to organize my thoughts on paper, to stare at the wall (more on that later), and to cook, eat, and rest thoroughly. But just because I am well designed and enjoy this quiet time, it doesn't mean I don't feel the constraints of isolation. I still feel the need to turn outward and connect.
In a time when we're all surrounded by imposed barriers, water or not, I find the horizon more relevant than ever. For me, it represents the beyond, the outside-of-self, the possibilities. Since we're all on our own islands right now, what do you see as you look out? I see a common picture. I see you. I see our connectedness, even as we are isolated. I see the freedom to imagine new possibilities. I see that maybe we are all islands, but we share the horizon, and that's what keeps us together.
Looking forward to sharing with you,
Henna