On March 11th, the day the WHO declared Covid-19 a pandemic, I was in L.A. working on a film soundtrack. The following day, I was driving up through Laurel Canyon, on one of those golden California evenings. The light was hitting off everything in this super-cinematic way.

I turned on the radio and the first thing I heard was Donald Trump’s voice saying, “So I’ve decided to cancel all travel between Europe and the United States for the next 30 days, effective midnight Friday.” I pulled over, called my manager and asked him to get me the hell out of there.

I had visions of stealing the hired car and driving across America, avoiding contact with people, headed for Chicago where I could stay with friends till this thing blew through. But how long would that be? Could be months, could be a year? Luckily I managed to get a seat on a flight. I was going home.

I got back on March 13th. I’ve never been so happy to descend through clouds into the grey skies of Dublin airport. Maire picked me up and, in the car, we discussed the precautionary idea of me going to the spare room to self-isolate. Maire was having none of it, she said we’d get through this together.

In the first few days at home I thought I had symptoms, but in the end I think it was just asthma and jet lag. But even as I settled back to home life and the unexpected joy of having time off, not knowing if I’d brought the disease with me left me anxious. I read articles on symptoms and watched videos of those who were going through the illness. Days went by and Maire was showing no symptoms. Her positivity was infectious and eventually I relaxed and moved my attention to the springtime, the garden (thank god we have a garden!), digging, planting, building raised beds and clearing the greenhouse.

I’ve never done so many odd jobs around the house, or been as present in it. Whether I’m clearing out sheds or painting furniture, or forever trying to fix the satellite dish, my new mantra is “slow, slower, slow as you can.” Even the news can wait until the evening now. This is a time to rest deeply, reflect, look around and listen, to open ourselves to what’s going on inside and allow something new to emerge, as a fresh image of our shared world coalesces.

On a personal level, this has been a time of great connection with not only the immediate surroundings and nature, but also with friends near and far. That connection has proven true and heartening, even deeper than before. We’ve had time not only to think, but to feel. And when things do go back to “normal”, I hope it will turn out that this time in isolation has brought us all a newfound attention and kindness to ourselves, to others and to the earth.

Read more Letters From Home in the new Hot Press 'Stay Safe' Emergency Issue – available to buy in shops and order online now.