Crossing Over

No, it’s not actually as dramatic as it sounds. Its not like I am moving over from life to death or anything like that.  I am here on the first day of life as not being a nine-to-five employed person. I should be terrified at the thought of the yawning chasm of uncertainty in the future. But I am not. Where once I saw darkness, now I only see possibilities. I keep waiting for the feeling of helplessness, that traumatic sense of vulnerability, of being defenceless at the mercy of the fates to clamp its jaws around my throat, to the point where I am light-headed with worry. But no, nothing like that happens.

I should be terrified.

I am not.

I should be ecstatic at the chance of having the chance of being anyplace, anytime.

Not that either.

All I have is this sparkly, silvery feeling of now.

Now is the right time to be. The right place to be. The right space to take and set your own pace. Transform it into what you want it to be. I’ve been heading here my entire life.

Now when I am here, it feels right.

Like it was meant to be. Where I am in myself, not discombobulated—yes okay, over-usage of favourite word—I mean, not feeling like a whiff of vapour, which does not really have shape. An amorphous mass of rubber being pulled in different directions, buffeted into a form which is of use to the external elements, with the real me only being that tiny little scared walnut shaped embryo at the centre.

Maybe this time I can take this mass of clay, pour it into my own potter’s wheel, and use my own hands to give it the shape I want. There will be false starts. Sometimes the clay will be too agile, at other times too inflexible, I am sure to fire up the kiln to the wrong temperature a couple of times, and emerge scarred for the experience too.

But as long as the general shape is aesthetic enough to be pleasing to the eyes, strong enough to stand on its own, robust enough to withstand the external forces the next time around. Then it’s right. For me.

“Camel Trips don’t begin or end. They merely change form.” – Robyn Davidson in her memoir Tracks, about her 1,700-mile trek across the deserts of west Australia using camels. The posts in this series are inspired by the movie of the same name Tracks, based on her memoir.


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