Dwelling on the past is futile and consuming, that much I've learned. But taking some time to look back and reflect can often be a productive endeavor, or at least somewhat invigorating. I've found it to be so. Occasionally, more often than not, my eyes turn inward and the train of thoughts goes a little backward in time. Oh, how I enjoy the bending and breaking of physics laws; it's no issue that it all happens only inside my mind. Come aboard, the train's about to leave the station. No worries, we'll be back in the present before you even notice.
About a year ago, I felt stuck. Stuck in a pattern that had repeated from the year before, and maybe even from the previous ones too. I felt consumed by situations that kept popping up, and it seemed they would continue to do so until I gathered the courage to face them, that much I know now. So, stuck and consumed I felt, not a very good pairing for maintaining the will to truly live. And I don't mean I had a death wish, not due to just feeling stuck and consumed, that is.
What I mean is that it had gotten quite difficult back then to find enough reasons to enjoy the passing of the seconds, the minutes, the hours, and to realize the myriad of things I could be doing with that time. Crazy, I know; life is such a precious gift, not to be wasted, but that's something I've learned along the way. Back then, a year ago, my days didn't feel like they belonged to me, or to be more accurate, I wasn't sure how to regain control over how I was spending them. This doesn't mean I was miserable all the time. But I wasn't all that happy either with the state of things.
About a year ago, and the year before that, and the year before that as well, I had felt a shift of wind. A calling, not from elsewhere but from within. I stopped in my tracks to listen to that wind, blowing now from a different direction, and it whispered how the next months, years would look like if I kept walking that same path I was on.
So I decided I didn't want to waste any more time working for peanuts, twelve to fourteen hours a day, idly watching my brain empty itself from all I truly enjoy. Back then I worked at a café, and the highlight of my days was the interaction with some customers I already considered family.
You see, I'm good at what I do. I have a natural inclination to serve, to bring out smiles, to make people feel special. It makes me happy to brighten someone's day, and so I'd effortlessly go out of my way to do so, picking up even the tiniest detail and using the information gathered to provide an experience of the best quality.
I'd be the one to remember the customers' full names, their birthdays, what their preferred orders were and those dishes they'd said sometime they'd like to try. I'd make the interaction more meaningful to them in a subtle way. Most of them would marble at the fact that I'd memorize that kind of stuff. It didn't take that much of my energy, actually; I enjoyed the results of paying a little more attention than the rest of my coworkers.
I loved many aspects of what I did for a living. All until the café emptied and I was left behind. Sometimes standing by the counter, unable to stay still. Or sitting at the most uncomfortable stool ever made by mankind. Hands idle on my lap, eyes staring into nothing. An unscratchable itch caused by the cheap fabric of the uniform. A void in my chest that had been muted until then by hard work, pleasant conversation, and small talk.
Because beneath my ability and drive to make people feel special, lies the unbearable half-truth of not being good enough. One I was taught at a very young age, a semi-lie I have to deconstruct every time it pops up. Because it still does, of course. So, by the time the customers walked out the door to move on with their lives, I was left behind, stuck, not really happy, and still not feeling good enough. Something I'd not be caught dead showing to the world.
The cycle would repeat itself each day. Smile, greet, serve, get a rush of dopamine when they thank you, smile a little more, crumble down as soon as no one's watching. I'd eat my lunch behind the kitchen door, next to the stairs that led to the storage room. Tupperware resting on my lap, as there was no table. Hands balancing the food, cutlery, and plastic cup as I tried to eat. Listening to some really disgusting conversations between some coworkers. Play pretend as you swallow. Keep your mouth full so you don't have to reply. Fifteen minutes later my lunch break would be over, and I had to be out again. Smiling. Serving. At least that part I'd enjoy.
About a year ago I quit that job to get closer to what I really wanted my life to be. What would the steps forward look like? I wasn't entirely sure. Back then, the plan(s) I had, the goals, laid before me like firm brushstrokes of paint over an already messy canvas. Splashes of colour in a somewhat disorganized array, one that could only make sense to me. Could I have explained them to someone else? Probably not. But I knew them. That was more than enough.
Something that amazes me is the fact that humans seem to be bound to a certain seasonality in their journeys. Even though our paths move forward, there are cycles we encounter, and sometimes they repeat in various forms until the lesson is learned or until we reach another one of our personal checkpoints. We are so many humans inhabiting this craziness of a world, and so many have before us. Observing the similarities between the zillion paths that have been walked can only bring some certain kind of understanding. I enjoy doing so.
From the little I've seen in my time in this world, I think people value stillness way too much. Stability is confused with staying the same, and I think being truly stable is something that can only be carried within, particularly as you move around. In my humble opinion, we should strive after keeping our essence intact, but the layers over it should remain ever-changing and evolving. The ultimate goal, a daily one: to become a better version of ourselves. With this idea in mind, I'd like to think I'm not afraid of changes, nor am I wary of taking a leap into the unknown, as I know what will remain within, with me.
I've gotten quite familiar with the feeling of being at a crossroads in my life. I honestly enjoy it, as the twists, turns, and steps taken have led me to where I am now. Looking back, I've found these months of the year to be crucial to me. A time to reflect and make necessary changes. To leave room for whatever might come next, and to what we are going to indeed bring in. Consciously, willingly, and with a plan in mind. Usually, March is a month that carries winds of profound change in my life, and this year hasn't been the exception.
What isn't quite the same, though, is how I've been embracing those changes, and approaching the upcoming consequences of my latest moves. For personal reasons, I'll not disclose this aspect further, but what I will say is that this time is different. Good kind of different. My words couldn't do justice to how exciting that is. However, I'm sure some of it will transpire in my following posts, sooner or later, and I can only hope that the good energy of this very personal process reverberates in you, if that's meant to be. Perhaps you'll feel compelled to actively pursue the changes you might be in need of, too.
Something I'd love to know if you feel like sharing: where were you a year ago? Who were you? What kind of challenges were you facing?
I'd like to thank you for reading this. I hope my words resonated with you in some way. If they did, or even if they didn't, I'd like to further connect with you, so I invite you to drop a comment and I'll answer it as soon as I can.
Sources of the images:
Original 📷 by Sean Yalda
The other image belongs to me.
