Peace in a Pod

Let me acknowledge from the outset that not being able to travel nationally or internationally is by no means the greatest fallout of COVID-19. I think that much is obvious but I feel the need to say it nonetheless. Having said that, pre-pandemic when life got rough or it was all a bit too much, we always had the excitement of a holiday to look forward to, whether that was a weekend break away here in Ireland or a longer stint somewhere further afield.  Despite making use of the lockdown to read, meditate, spend time more productively and, of course, make banana bread, I long for the high-energy adrenaline rush that comes with air travel. There’s the paranoia of going through airport security: grappling for the <100ml liquids to squish into the plastic bag, or entertaining the irrational thoughts that, despite having never taken Class A drugs in my life, the X-ray machine may somehow find traces of cocaine in my luggage. Not forgetting the thrill of eating a dinner on an airborn...

Mornings, as a concept, are kind of a trip because, when you think about it, it’s just a few hours in the day, the same way that the evening is a few hours in the day, and the afternoon and the night. It’s just a period in time. But, for some reason, the morning has this extra something . It’s like, the way you work your morning sets the tone for the rest of the day, and ultimately your life as you are living it. In an article on Neurotracker, Ciaran Robinson (2019) talks through some of the many benefits of getting up early, including: Enhanced organising skills, since this is probably the only time in the day that you have to yourself Feeling happier and more energetic throughout the day Beating long or busy work commutes and crowded gyms (in pre-COVID times, of course) An overall better outlook on life, due to enhanced sleep quality. But let’s not get bogged down too much by the science. What about the lived experience of being an early bird vs. a night owl? Well, this is where my o...

One of my New Year's Resolutions this year was to complete the Duolingo French course (I’m anything if not ambitious, clearly). It was while I was sitting on the couch a few days ago testing myself on my reflexive verbs, the weak Spring sunshine gleaming through the window, that I was suddenly filled with this feeling of just pure exoticism? (Read again, that’s EXOTICISM, not EROTICISM. I know French is a sexy language, but please, take your tête out of the gutter.) It felt like I was in holiday mode, basking in the sun (albeit indoors) and uttering phrases in smooth-sounding French. And of course, me being me, it made me think about additional-language-learning and how it impacts on us emotionally and psychologically. I have always loved languages and, in my time as as a psychology student, the field of psycholinguistics, which is the science of language acquisition. I was raised more or less bilingually, English being my native tongue followed closely by Irish, passed down to m...

For the last few years of secondary school, regardless of what homework needed to be completed or what sandwiches required preparing for the next day’s lunch, Tuesday evenings were sacred in our house, because, for 60 minutes, starting at 10pm, Desperate Housewives was on. With 5 out of the 6 of us getting hooked from about Season 3 onwards, it became an unspoken ritual in our home to gather around the TV set each Tuesday and watch in suspense as RTÉ2 delivered the latest instalments in these glamorous women’s lives. Now almost a decade has passed since that time and I decided to rewatch the series with my parents, only viewing it this time through a far more educated and nuanced lens, and, while I still love it and find it entertaining, boy do I see some stuff that makes me mad, the highlights of which I will momentarily flesh out for you here. First and foremost, I absolutely refuse to apologise for any spoilers you are about to read: Desperate Housewives originally aired between 2...