selfie taken last sundayIts usually on my morning commute down the M3 to Basingrad that I worry. Nothing in particular is wrong, its just the suspicion that forces are aligning quietly and there will be trouble. Some nights I stir and find myself fretting over the minutiae of the impending day for a few hours; often followed by panicky apocolyptic dreams. As a natural optimist, I am left feeling a little discombobulated by these bouts of gloom. I wonder if it might just be the weather, the to-ing and fro-ing in darkness. Or perhaps its the slow realisation that this might be all there is. That in this life I may in fact never write a book, or stand for parliament, get a Phd, run a marathon, become a mother…
I find my belly curdling with the sense of guilt that I am educated, relatively unencumbered, physically healthy, financially independant, resident of a political and social time and place that allows me unequaled freedoms: I have the luxury of such choices, dreams, expectations for myself (if someone would just find a cure for procrastination and I miraculously develop the steely focus of that woman in the Nike ad). But it goes deeper than that.
I have always been able to find an excuse not to start things and to not finish things. Mostly this has come down to a lack of self-belief, of ‘who am I to do that?’. It stems from being told to keep myself nice, to be quiet, to stop being so much. The physical body I inhabited until a few months ago, showed all of my fears and my longings to be more, to be enough. And to be safe. As though I could keep the world and all its terrors from invading me.
As I shed this weight for the last time, I am letting go of my protective layer; my store of reasons not to do something has diminished too. I am left feeling exposed and a little vulnerable. I find I cannot un-ring the bell of understanding my own ways of numbing out life; there is no longer any solace in wine or chocolate, shopping or the escape fantasys of winning the lottery.
There is just me. With my nightly frets and morning doubts. And a bunch of dreams and ambitions that I realise are not lost to me yet.
Comments
I don’t know if it’s any consolation but sometimes in the dead of night when my bloody back is keeping me awake at night again, I worry I’ll never get my phd or finish the second novel (never mind the first lying unpublished) that I’ll never own my own clinic or ever have the money to buy a house again.
And this too shall pass my love. There is just now.
sas Replied:
yes now – i am getting that (slow learner :)
i love you xox
sas Replied:
my world is better ‘cos of you x
i’ve been reading your blog quietly for a little while, and right now wanted to reach out and say thank you. and repeat what you said, which is so true, the dreams are not lost to you. they cannot be lost to you. they are yours. they dream of you too.
sas Replied:
‘they dream of you too’
wow that gave me a back-of-the-neck prickle! so thankful you are here :)
This is beautifully written and very touching; a lot of it rang true with me – I sometimes struggle to remind myself that SOMEBODY has to succeed at this; why not me?
sas Replied:
yes! why not indeed?
there is just you. and me, too. we’re in this together. i love you.
sas Replied:
thank god you’re here.
I have also been following your blog quietly for some time but just need to say this is a wonderful post but most of all that you “look” tender and strong, discombobulated and serene and most of all beautiful. And that is not the conclusion drawn from the photo – which is lovely too!
sas Replied:
thank you love – truly x
“I find I cannot un-ring the bell of understanding my own ways of numbing out life; there is no longer any solace in wine or chocolate, shopping or the escape fantasys of winning the lottery.”
Amazing. I miss you.
sas Replied:
i miss you too. SO MUCH. we need to come home for a visit x
I get so anxious sometimes thinking about all the things I haven’t done or finished or started. I feel like I am wasting this perfectly good opportunity, being born with more possibility than I guess I can handle, because I can’t figure out what I want. I can never figure out what I want. And that inability to pick something means I mess about “trying” things, when all I really want is to be so overcome with passion that I know, without doubt or fear, that I’ve finally found the thing I am suppose to put my energy into, that I am supposed to cash in all these chips for. How do you find that thing?
sas Replied:
I hear you.
I think you need a thing finder.
Fantastic post … and so eloquently written.
I just know the future will be magical for you.
omg! woman! you and i have to meet. it’s like you took the words right out of my mouth (they were all jumbled up there in my head and you pieced them together in a way that is helping me understand what i am feeling these days). and that mogwai track… so perfect indeed. big love. xo
and don’t forget me. I’m holding space for you too. LOVE you.
I spent many years waiting for my life to happen, but all that caused was that sense of “going through the motions” and repeated depressive bouts. I now live in optimistic anticipation that finding peace with my imperfections will bring about a sense of balance and calm in my life, off which I can daringly venture into the unknown with self-confidence and wholeheartedness.
I’ve only recently found your blog, but already admire you greatly. And that’s not just cos you’re an expat Kiwi ;)
<3
You’re a really beautiful writer. Your words just flow, and so does the honesty.
x