The20Project

Remember, as a child, when we believed
ourselves to be the tallest,the smartest,
the most wonderful creature to ever exist?
Each scrawled drawing, a masterpiece.
Each story scribed, a classic.

Those moments breathed,
moved the space where our hearts lay.
They played outside in the autumn,
tossing dried colour into blue skies.
Alive, they danced on floor boards,
drank milk from the carton,
until they were shaken. Bruised. Violated.

Told not enough good, not enough pretty,
not enough intelligent,
not enough, never enough.

Now we must reclaim those moments.
Find a reality from within.
If we reach inside, through the soup of disillusionment,
there will lay nothing truer than that small child,
the one we abandoned but who never left.
She just sat about,
building a castle with pebbles of memory.

She will smile. With a voice, as soft as marshmallows,
she will ask,“Shall we play?”

Taking your hand, gently,
she will lead you around yourself,
unfolding ideas that you hid away in drawers
you thought to be jammed shut.

She will tumble them out,
carefully arranging each one,
creating whole universes that
time had squashed.

Pointing, the gurgle of her voice will exclaim,
‘That one! That one would work perfectly,
if only we had a unicorn.’

Can you hear her laughter, chiming in your ears?

 

I write prose and poetry. Never do I write about myself. Therefore, this is as much about sharing my story as it is a personal challenge.

As my thirties edge me forward, constantly I hear of people—grown-up people—unhappy with where their lives are. These are invariably those who followed the crowd. By never stepping back and learning who they are, what drives them, what sparks passion, they all trod the well-worn path. Reasons tend to be numerous, but fear often plays a large part. A realisation is dawning upon them, and many are afraid it is too late to make changes, or believe themselves to be trapped by their choices.

The tale I find myself a part of follows no script. Regret does not visit my days and fear knocks on my door only when I am about to throw myself off the edge of a cliff into the unknown. And that is a fantastic feeling.

How, then, do you or I or the guy next to you on the bus end up where we do?

Life is a series of events that come into being from decisions we make, which are influenced by both our environment and innate attributes. This may come across as an over-simplified explanation of a complex world; however it is my explanation, for my world, that works for me.

As a child I was brash, bossy, confident, independent and terribly self-righteous. Due to circumstances of one variety or another I was never under any pressure from my parents to take a particular direction in life. As a teenager I picked my own school subjects, joined extracurricular activities because I wanted to, worked, played and generally enjoyed not being told what to do.

A combination of my personality and upbringing allowed me to see the world as mine for the taking. At 18, I dropped out of university and, packing my bags, left Australia, with no knowledge of which track I would meander down.

So many times during this period of my life people would say to me, “You are so lucky!” Believe me; luck had nothing to do with how my life was progressing. I was not born into money, was never handed a golden plane ticket. My warts were visible. I often fell down; I cried and stamped my feet like a princess. I did not always sleep with my mind in restful dreams. Quite literally, I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. I just knew I was living.

This time abroad was laced with an awareness that I was looking for a focus; a passion or interest that would lead me back to study. Though I never put a time limit on when this would happen.

Whilst in London I worked as a nanny. Here I experienced, for the first time, the absolute joy in realising that another human being now knew something, and would know it for the rest of their lives, because I had helped them. There is something incredibly powerful in the transfer of knowledge from one to another. I decided to become a teacher.

Four and a half years had passed. I returned home.

Throughout university I was ferocious in my quest to learn. Real-world experience with children meshed perfectly with academic explanations of behaviours I had encountered, and ideas formed from my own observations. I also realised I had no desire to teach in the mainstream education system. For me, university was creating graduates expected to slide into predefined jobs. Frustration grew as I tried to push against these expectations.

Once the degree was completed many thought I would find a job, marry my boyfriend, mortgage my life and buy a dog. However, now armed with new-found knowledge, it was the perfect time to venture back out into the world. For 12 months I pottered. Then it was time to find a “proper” job. Back to London I went.

Let me take a moment to discuss goals. Goals are great. In my very early twenties it was returning to study. Following that was having a solid notion of how I wanted to spend my work days by the time I reached 30. Loose goals, yet still very important milestones to be working towards; set the boundaries but allow total freedom within.

At this point I was hurtling into the tail end of decade number three. Thirty was approaching.

“Proper” job hunting tired me. Even though I had always danced to my own tune, I still very much felt the pressure of the everyday world eying me up, waiting for me to tumble, perhaps come crawling back to the “real” world. However, my inner voice always sang loudest. With a proper job still in sight, I decided to do things my way. I took a job beneath my skill set and volunteered at an organisation I wanted to work for. Three months later I signed the contract for my very first permanent job, as a literacy teacher for underprivileged and vulnerable young people. I was just about to turn 29.

The job lasted one year.

I was miserable.

I quit.

Staying in London, I took temporary teaching work (solidifying my thoughts on mainstream education), hinted at starting a business, rediscovered my passion for writing and took a massive pay cut.

I was blissfully happy.

Whilst employed in my grown-up job, I had been unwillingly dragged into setting up a creative writing group that was being funded by another organisation and facilitated by a Ghanaian writer. I knew I was going to quit my job; however, I took on the project.

I am proud to say it was a huge success. Once I left my job, along with an ex-colleague I continued to facilitate the group for another year. We worked with various organisations, hosted spoken-word events and I set up another writing group separately. I networked and built something meaningful.

There is a lesson here about saying yes, when all you want to do is eat your lunch in peace and not be asked to join a meeting with someone you immediately judge to be of no value to your future, and who then becomes a pivotal character in your story and a great friend.

However, in early 2013 I grew restless. I knew this feeling. After staying put for three years I had achieved much, felt secure and comfortable. It was not enough. I walked away and moved to Kenya.

Kenya was interesting. A part of the world I knew nothing about taught me more about humanity than I thought possible. But I could not settle. Cogs were turning and churning, leading to restless nights and early mornings drinking tea and watching the ducks multiply with each sunny day.

After 13 years of moving and trying and testing and generally seeing what is out there, I had made a decision. I knew where I wanted to be and it was not Kenya.

How did that happen?

It happened because I had taken time to learn who I am. Over the years, spending ridiculous amounts of time by myself had enabled me to focus inward. I know how my brain works, why I behave in certain ways, what I like and what I do not like. Because I have created myself, I am completely comfortable with WHO I AM. And along the way I have found that place in the world that fits me. That place is not where I was born or where I grew up or went to school. It is a place found because I went looking, refusing to settle for not quite good enough.

It is in this place I am parked now. Newly arrived and, as at other times when I have decided to wrench safety and comfort from my life, absolutely terrified. When that particular brand of fear raises itself though, I know I have made the correct choice.

This is part one of my story. No one on this Earth has this story except me. And no one else in this world has yours. Do not allow others to own your story or force you to duplicate theirs.

 

“But I want to play amongst the stars!”

How do you explain to a small child that we cannot?
How can you encourage the young to reach for
those same stars when we are
limited to the regions of our own planet?

We are boxed in.
Prisoners of an atmosphere that sustains life;
one we are rapidly poisoning
with the filth of human construction.

I want to go beyond the train tracks but I fail to find a land
untainted by metal and concrete,
assembled into responsible shapes.

Wanting more, seeking more but
always finding the same,
I begin to turn inwards.
In here there are doors that have yet to be built;
whole colonies of creatures only now hunting for light.
No rules as these would melt the...