I Have Spent Lockdown Delivering Packages of Joy

As the third wave of Covid sweeps Australia, my city falls into lockdown for the first time in over a year.

I think it came as a bit of a shock to my community. The delta variant had been running rampant in the regions surrounding us for months and we had remained untouched for so long. We built up a sense of invincibility that was suddenly shattered as they announced the first case within our borders.

Most of the people around me, my housemates included, are working from home indefinitely, taking solace in the view out their window and their one hour of outdoor activity a day.

I, on the other hand, am busier than ever. An artisan bakery with a home delivery service is insanity in a lockdown. Our demand tripled in a matter of days and my little marketing team had to don delivery driver hats to get all our orders to their designated doorsteps each day.

So I've spent most days driving around the city for hours on end, delivering boxes of baked goods to all the people confined to the perimeters of their home.

It has been a strange change of pace from my office role, which I welcome, as there's only so much of a day that I can spend staring at a screen.

But I have discovered other reasons to revel in this period of life. I have discovered little ways in which I can give and receive joy, even in a time so ruled by fear.

As a (not so) loud and proud introvert, the time alone in my car has been a joy. I have been able to catch up on my podcasts over the last few weeks, as well as rock out to all my favourite bangers and discover new music.

But sometimes, I will just drive in silence, letting my thoughts bounce around in my head. I will roll down the window and listen to the sound of the wind whipping by. I will talk to myself, because who doesn't.

I really value regular times of reflection and I will often struggle to find that time in my busy schedule. Having this alone time in my work day to think, ruminate, imagine - it's a privilege that I didn't realise I craved until I had access to it.

My city is a wonderland in springtime. Everything is green and the air smells so fresh. The streets are painted with white, pink and purple blossoms, wind blowing their petals across the road like snow, gathering on lawns and in gutters. We have beautiful, clear skies for days on end. I visit homes with immaculate gardens and stunning architecture. Driving allows me to witness all these tiny miracles.

And I have peeked in on so many moments of human connection on my delivery runs. Two couples, likely neighbours, sitting socially distant on lawn chairs in a driveway. Drinks and snacks laid out before them, soaking up the sun and one another's company. Households walking together, taking their dogs out to roam the streets, standing in their quiet residential roads to chat across the bitumen.

I've received sweet little notes left on doorsteps, thanking my company for bringing joy to their lockdown. I even received a tip one day, which isn't a common practice here. Many people have called out in gratitude, waved, sent messages of excitement upon hearing that I am about to drop their package. I've heard the squeals of delighted children as I ring the doorbell. And of course, I've met countless happy dogs and curious cats.

I've worked overtime in the last few weeks. Much like the driver on a family road trip is exhausted by the end of the drive, I have found driving surprising taxing.

I come home from work exhausted, sometimes barely managing to scrounge up dinner before I collapse with a glass of wine and some mindless show to wind down. My neck and shoulders are often sore from sitting in the car and craning my neck in search of often elusive house numbers.

But my God, has it has been a blessing.

I get to witness the fruits of labour to a certain degree through my marketing role. Messages roll in, customers tag us. But this is something different. Something more tangible.

This is bright smiles, calls of thanks through doorways, notes scribbled on scrap paper, children peeking through curtains, staring in wonder at the box I place outside their door.

And it makes every moment worth it.