Six years ago, I was a completely different woman. 

She had recently gotten a big promotion at work that entailed her moving from the Regional Head Office in Johannesburg, South Africa, to the Corporate Head Quarters in Stockholm, Sweden. She would be sharing the hallways with the company president and the C-suite. The place where mere ideas were breathed into life and transformed into tangible, profitable business lines. The people were excellent. The opportunities were unparalleled. The sky was the limit. 

Hello imposter syndrome.

The move itself was not a big deal. The company handled the paperwork and logistics. I’d been moving since the age of three when my father, a diplomat, was posted to Paris, France. Uprooting and starting anew had come to be the signal for fresh beginnings.

Hello mid-life crises.

Stockholm turned out to be just what the doctor would have ordered if I had asked. A society that wasn’t really able to appreciate the dramatic effects of the Covid pandemic, given everyone’s innate propensity to keep physical and emotional distance from all around them. 

I was going through a deep dramatic change, and Stockholm was just the place for it. It was a sort of self awakening. An: “is this all life was meant to be?”, kind of monologue. 

In the past, I had earnestly sought answers deep within the depths of the wine and vodka bottles. I’d searched in my work, spending countless late nights chasing deadlines. I took the search to Mary, dutifully reciting rosary after rosary and to Christ, her Son, as I genuflected and bowed my head down low in the weekday masses. No bother that I’d spent the night before the Homily actively dancing my search away in the ill lit corners of disreputable night clubs. I’d discovered that the answers were not to be found in the beds of the questionable men I’d encountered. Hosting an interminable line of house guests who were eager to eat and drink at my expense offered no clue. Catching up with old friends didn’t help much either, since we kept all our focus on the happy memories of the good ol’ days. Searching among relatives whose names I did not know, and whose relation to me I did not understand was no use either. 

Lighthouse

I hadn’t found myself with an external focus. 

Stockholm gave me the opportunity to shift the powerful beam inward.

Who was I?

Like really? If I removed all the boxes I used to describe myself: name, gender, nationality profession, colour, age, origin, socio-economic status, marital status, parental status (child-free or child-less depending on who you ask), and so on?

Who am I?

That search was a journey I came to realise I had been travelling all along. I would face my dark night of the soul – the most excruciating experience I have ever been through. Beyond the suffering, beyond the dark night, would be a beautiful golden tinged light and beyond that still, a homecoming. I would find me.

I am.

It was a process of questioning why I did what I did. Did I really like the taste of vanilla or was that something I just assumed because everybody else seemed to love it? Did I want to be a lawyer? What did I enjoy doing? And what in particular did I like about what I enjoyed doing? And what to do with this body I found myself in. This body with all its faults, failings and wants? How was I ever to reconcile myself to it? What of all my fears? What if people found out that I hadn’t graduated with a Masters Degree? Would I be able to live that down? Then there was my failing love life – where to even start?!

Silence.

There was the me beyond the noise. Peace. Stillness. Be still in the know, that I am Lord. The one who knew that none of it mattered. At least, not in the way I had previously assumed it did. Yes all things were useless. And all things were precious. Two opposing ideas true in the same moment. A spiritual awakening. Consciousness. Awareness. Hello. 

The universe in one drop.

Finding me meant an end to performance. I no longer needed to do things so others would accept me; I had accepted myself. I no longer needed to worry whether others would think I looked fat in a dress – what mattered was: did I think I looked fat and could I live with it if I did? For the first time, I could dance as though nobody was watching even while in a room full of people. I could be my quirky, happy, silly self. I could be my serious self. I could be whatever version of myself showed up that day. I could be.

And because I was, I am.

I now live a life that’s not dictated by fear. I choose to go against the grain because I don’t have to follow the well worn path so many have taken before me. I can set out on my own path. I can dream and reach for the stars.

Back sliding.

Every now and then, I forget my magnificence. Being magnificent is our heritage as human beings. Daughters and sons of God. We are divine. 

When I forget, I move around in a state of disconnection from self, from God, from humanity and from earth. I am not I am. The fear creeps back in. The healing starts to regress. I drift through on autopilot. 

Nature

Then I chance upon a flower and slow down to contemplate her petals in wonder. My cats demand my attention in more than a passing pet. I raise my face to the sun to drink in her magical energy. The moon reminds me to stand tall and remember who I am. 

I am.

Who are you?