Perhaps I am just lucky. Some would call it grace I reckon. Still, I am a firm believer in the following: we are never left without what we need, especially if we don’t know what it is we are need of. We find people or sometimes they find us. Either way, it’s nothing short of a miracle – for lack of a better word.
Today was a horrid day. I woke up from a dreadful dream and then was pushed around and in a direction I was not keen to follow. Only to have the universe intervene on my behalf….and cutting short the path I was forced on.
I sat at the beach…tired and angry. My god, I thought. So much has been sacrificed for music. And now this fuckery? Really? And then this chirpy man walked in with hot chips and chocolates on a cold and rainy day in Cape Town. Granted it took a while for my foul mood to leave me. But I don’t think I laughed that much in a while.
Why am mentioning this? We are all such strange creatures, us humans. Mistakenly we believe we can handle every crisis on our own. This is my pain, my suffering, my grief dammit. It’s best you leave me alone until I figure it out. Yet, the reality is we are all hardwired to share, to give. And if we are lucky we find someone we can do that with effortlessly. Now what one does to nurture that bond is another matter altogether…
I wrote a blog post called Advice to my younger self a while back. In it I said…don’t worry about love, young Auriol. Something or someone interesting always comes along. On the one hand, I know this to be true. There are wonderful men around – despite all the talks about toxic masculinity. Yet I also am aware of the following : it is not the people themselves, but the message, the gift they bring. Perhaps it is greater self awareness, your blindspots being highlighted to such an extent that you have no choice but to see yourself for the (sometimes) monster you can be. Or the martyr.
Either way, I am grateful for being allowed the space on the beach to laugh and imagine strange alien beings emerging from the sea, while speaking of HP Lovecraft’s books which I am yet to read. As a fan of horror….this is a travesty I know. Although the dude was a bladdy racist ( hence I don’t feel so bad).
The anger is gone. And there was no need for tears. Or to abuse the piano with all my angst and pain. If that isn’t grace then I don’t know what is.