Omicron worries are bringing dread, but we have to hold on to our hopes

What a week. Are you feeling as miserable as I am? A fair few of you must be. I know I’m not alone in this. When Omicron arrived, it brought with it a familiar feeling of dread and gloom.

Like when an ex turns up unannounced to a party you’ve been looking forward to all month.

Misery loves company, but it has still been disconcerting to feel my Christmas cheer drain away in real time.

My tank of festive joy is normally brimming. Now it’s running on empty. But I refuse to accept it’s gone forever. So I’ve been on a quest to find my natural emotional habitat; a happy place where I’m perched high atop a glittering tree with a belly full of Baileys.

I play the same songs that I enjoy every year and usually can’t resist dancing to.

I’ve eaten all the cheerful carbohydrates and I’ve hugged the people that light up every happy receptor in my brain.

But while I’m doing all that, breaking news alerts flash in the background.

They offer an unhelpful reminder that things are bad and are likely to get much worse before they get better.

And those mantras that we repeated in 2020 – of pushing through, one step at a time, over the obstacles and back to a place of normality – now taunt us, rather than reassure.

Across the rolling news coverage, we’re hearing sobering facts about this new variant.

It’s more transmissible. Its “attack rate” (could they not have called it something less terrifying?) is so much worse than Delta.

The numbers swirl around my head, disrupting up all the happy chemicals. It’s hard to know what approach to take. Should we follow every new development so we are as well-informed as we can be?

Or should we only pay attention when things have got so bad that Nicola Sturgeon is forced to address the nation once again?

And then there’s the guilt, a lessermentioned impact of the pandemic.

Moaning in this way feels self-indulgent and selfish.

The true horrors of this pandemic haven’t darkened my door.

I haven’t lost anybody to the virus. And I haven’t had to say my final goodbyes via video call or faced the heartache and loneliness of shielding, nor the financial devastation that has battered so many.

I don’t really have any right to complain or any true claim on sadness.

It would be useful if there was a caveat button we could press whenever the long arms of the pandemic grab us tightly enough that we feel compelled to moan.

One that signals that we know how lucky we are compared to others; we are grateful for the sacrifices and graft of NHS and key workers, and we mourn the death of every soul claimed by this awful virus.

And then we can get on with the lowlevel but nevertheless tiring and real complaints we have.

Principally, that we are worried that the sunrise we were promised will never appear and the darkness is our new normal.

On the bright side, we have done this all before. We know we can and will cope.

Admittedly, I’m less confident about my own mental strength than I was this time last year.

But I suppose that’s the amazing thing about the human brain: there’s not an upper limit on resilience.

The tough times don’t stay tough forever. And when the next thing comes along: bereavement, separation, redundancy, we somehow cope all over again.

It’s incredible really. Mass-market jet packs remain tantalisingly out of reach, but our brains can process and react appropriately to every conceivable scenario and sadness that the universe can throw at us.

I think I’d still prefer a jetpack.

The news about this new strain of the virus is all the harder to bear because we are mere days away from Christmas.

But maybe, if we’re searching for a reason to be optimistic (and I certainly am) that might also be the thing that helps us heave ourselves over this latest bump and into a new year.

Even though it doesn’t seem like it now, when Christmas morning arrives it will still feel as magical as it always does.

Not because of the groaning pile of presents under the tree or the belief that everything is going to be picture-perfect.

Let’s be honest, it’s never perfect.

Most families are more likely to get into a drunken argument over Monopoly than they are to gather round a grand piano to sing a Christmas ditty.

But it will be special because at its heart, Christmas is a day full of unashamed optimism and hopeful expectation.

With everything that’s going on right now, such festive wishes might feel misplaced, but we should probably hold on to them all the same.

When Christmas arrives, it will still feel as magical as ever

NEW YEAR: We should hold on to feelings of optimism, hopeful expectation and festive wishes despite the growing Covid concerns.