On how far I've come (and why I write)

Seven years ago (at the time of writing) I finished a meeting and walked into the Queen Victoria Building on George Street to meet a bald man. I had no idea what I was doing, no idea that it was a moment that would change everything. I certainly wasn’t imagining any kind of future for myself. I would not use the label desperate, but perhaps that would have been a somewhat accurate description.

At this point in my life I was tired, jaded, spent. Up until a few months prior, I was spending far too much time with someone who was literally sucking life out of me. This man was charming in public, but not so much in private. Just like me, he was emotionally volatile. Towards the end of our separation, he had called me every available name under the sun, created a website to tarnish my reputation and did everything else he could have possibly done to make sure that I would commit suicide.

I obviously did not die, but this was only part of the reasons why I decided to leave. I am not going to explain them right now. But this is what I will say: leaving was the only viable option to me. It certainly wasn’t easy; it was navigating the realm of the unknown on both personal and professional fronts. I had no idea what I was doing, where I was going and how I managed to survive all that.

Miraculously along the way I learned to let go of some of the old sorrows and started thinking about the person that I wanted to become. I got reacquainted with myself all over again. I found my way through the jungle of emotional mess, processing what I was feeling and got through in one piece. I admitted to myself that a lot of things were not in line with my desires, needs and values that I upheld dearly – and more importantly, I wanted to change this. What I eventually realised was that I was largely uncommitted to myself; I was, for whatever reason, unavailable to myself. Consequently, I needed to address this issue so that I could actually be available to myself and stand by own side when things get tough. Or in other words, I had to learn to love myself all over again; I learned to be happy with me and accepted myself the way I was, and started appreciating my life like I was meant to. 

I stopped writing about relationships for the longest time because I couldn’t make sense of most of mine. I didn’t want to write out of anger; I really didn’t want another story that served to testify the ugliness of certain human beings out there. I stopped writing about being broken until recently, and the irony was that as soon as I made the choice to start writing about it, I ended being completely broken, so broken that I was incapable of writing anything.

I have said this previously, the things that I write are my understanding of them at that particular point in time. I notice the concurrent themes that are overlapping. The situations may be different, but the feelings are similar, if not the same. There is a reason why people with broken hearts have difficulties breathing. It is very possible and undisputed (by me) that others would have their own version of ‘the truth’, edited to their own understanding and preconceptions. But this does not negate the value of your own take on things, because self-reflection can help you understand why your life turned out the way it did, and perhaps, geared you into taking action and strengthen your resolve. Far too long, I write because I felt powerless, angry and misunderstood. I will not write that way again.

This is why I write: to make sense of my own story, while drawing from others’ stories, examining my own stories and to encourage others to examine theirs. They say that experience is like mirrors; they serve to teach us more about ourselves. We have this tendency to attract and be drawn to people that reflect things that we believe about ourselves, such that being involved with these people often end up being a self-fulfilling prophecy. I want to get comfortable questioning my life and to get comfortable talking about this openly, while thinking about the possibility of living in ways that are actually rewarding rather than merely tolerable, and be surrounded by good people in the process. 

Over time, we all change, some of us evolve at a different rate and end up in a completely different state than we originally were. Part of this journey is simply accepting that what we want over the years change. Once upon a time, the idea with this one person was so intoxicating, until we realised that the reality of being chased by someone who you’re not sure when you might hear from next was in truth not all that exciting. You kept on second guessing where you were in relation to his life, any kind of connection felt forced because it was impossible to forge a real connection when it felt like you were perpetually grasping for air. The drama of bad boys and its novelty just wore off eventually. You came to a point whereby you had enough of regressing. And this got tedious the older that you get.

Life is dynamic; if anything, it is a constantly changing destination. It does not owe us anything, but has everything to give. The question is how do we receive these gifts? Growing up, I was deprived from stability and spent a good chuck of my early twenties yearning for stability. I abandoned this fruitless search eventually. Stability is something that parents give to their children, and that’s about it. Once you’re grown up, you eventually come to embrace that life is a series of risks: the higher the risks that you take, the higher the returns that follows. And none of it is easy; it takes a lot of consistent effort, conducted in a persistent manner, overcoming exhaustion and the pain associated with these risks. Sometimes, we go through all of these only to realise that the rewards are not even worth it in the end. Then we conclude that change really stinks. Yet it is not the end of the story. What this really is this: a chance to rewrite your story. An opportunity to take your life in a different direction – you get to direct the course of your life rather than to live as reactively and passively as you once did.

It all sounds so simple and so clear cut laid out neatly in a blog post. You may not see it today or tomorrow, but you will look back in a few years and be absolutely perplexed and awed by how every little thing added up and brought you somewhere wonderful – or where you always wanted to be. You will be grateful that things didn’t work out the way you once wanted them to.  

Seven years ago, I did not imagine the life that I am living now.  Right now, I can’t imagine what my life would look like if I stayed.