There’s a danger in finding a balance in a rather unbalanced life. That glimpse of what life could be. That flicker of light at the end of a tunnel, could lead to a week of confusion and psychosis.
Confusion, anger, betrayal, sadness, stagnation, stuck. These feelings have dominated my brain, heart, and soul. It wasn’t always like this. For the last three months the same routine has dominated my life. I’d say on those days I either gaslight myself into believing that that’s the schedule I needed or that I needed to prove that I could hold something for three months.
Forgive me for I’m just an almost former child, turning 25 this April and I hope it brings with it growth and clarity and self knowing, I did beat myself into a box. I would say capitalism puts me here, but sometimes it’s okay to blame myself (see I’m growing). I have obsessive phases of my life: I find something, I love it, I make it the centre of my life, then I leave it, find a new thing, love it, make it… You get the drift.
In a moment of broke-ness, self doubt and desperation, I convinced myself that the job I have( the only job that felt attainable to me at that moment) was my ticket to happily ever after. Happily ever after: a steady supply of hardcopy books, literature events, masters degree in literature and Creative Writing, access to rivers, friendship dates, cinnamon rolls, and nyama choma.
So, I forced myself to fit in this box and convinced myself that I needed this job and that I must see it through( I realize unemployed me is a trigger to some of you, I haven’t quit my job) and I must work hard for a promotion, which happened! When the promotion happened, I convinced myself if I saw it through I’d even switch to a different company and different industry. More experience which would result in more money!
A day of camping at Castle Forest Lodge slapped some senses in. These feelings of stagnation, this doom feeling, these tears in my eyes; cause I cannot imagine dying this way, were caused by the chirping of birds and a calmness my heart longed for.
In December and November, I came to work every single day. Including Christmas day. Like I said, find something, love it, then? Yeah.
I suppressed my need to write, my need to hug trees, fall in love, bake a pie, journal, call friends,sleep in, jump off a cliff _and write about it_. I buried myself in work and it did bare fruits.
That camping experience, soothed my soul, in less than twenty four hours, I reconnected with a friend. One I lost touch with. And she asked why I abandoned her, why I didn’t bet on her. Why she hasn’t heard from me. I spent the rest of the week ignoring her. She has those voices you don’t forget. Some sweet sweetness your tongue always remembers. You may forget her, move on, but you know she exists and you know she’s sweet. Like a forbidden fruit. Like sweet seductive sin.
And it is sin. Because how dare I try to write when I’m in my prime? Shouldn’t I be making babies and climbing the corporate ladder? It is sin to assume I should have a work life balance that I should pay my rent and make art and bake cakes and make love and hold babies. (I understand now that it’s possible for me to have all these things, I didn’t think it was possible then. I didn’t think people like me deserved a life like that. Yes, I’m unpacking these in therapy.)
I haven’t slept well since that conversation. I haven’t breathed well since my friend asked why I left her. I haven’t concentrated, her scent, her voice, her name, her touch haunt me. And in true avoidant style I talked to my other friend. Why address a disgruntled lover while you could just talk to a different one?
My other sweetheart, Gitau, as in cahoots with my former lover, named what I was feeling as Inactivity. Not boredom, not longing, not loneliness just Inactivity.
You see, those four months, I didn’t write, I barely read and I barely meditated. In my defence it’s hard to face your first true love and tell her you should take a break because this new thing that doesn’t fulfil you but helps you keep the debts away if your new lover. Again, in my defence, I thought/believed/knew, that I had to give her up. That these two would not exist, that there’s no way I can have my first true love that I talk to daily and this other one that I have to keep.
So, this is me. Two weeks after a girls camping trip taking my first true love, writing, out. Facing her, telling her I’m so afraid of not moving out, I’m so afraid of not owing a pink oven, of debt, of stagnation. I showed up in an afro, just how she likes it, in crocs, braless, an old cotton t-shirt, and ribbed yellow sweater. I hope she likes my explanation. I’m holding my apology: Hello, my love, I wrote this because I know you love to read and you love to write. I wrote this because you promised to write and so here you’re. I only have one promise, holding you in my hands as I work a normal job, will slow me down. It will mean less sleep and more caffeine. It might also mean I will not be climbing the corporate ladder, heck, I might burn the ladder. It means I won’t move out as fast as I thought. It might mean I might not travel as often as I thought I would, but for you my love, I’m willing to adjust my financial goals. I hope someday, soon, you’ll be my main source of income. Allow me to love someone else between dawn and dusk. It’s you I love, not them. It’s you I want, they keep forcing themselves on me. It’s you I want to spend the rest of my life with. But before I commit to you, allow me to cheat on you with this day job. I promise me to pour into you every day, I promise to sit with you everyday, make this the second promise. I also promise you, a day out, say Sunday? Like healthy families do? Yeah!
Please forgive me.
Sincerely sorry,
A lazy/ busy/ stressed writer.