It’s been an extremely long time since I sat in the beautiful silence of the night alone. In utter darkness I can only hear the hum of the fridge, a little movement from the bedroom and my keystrokes on my laptop. It is absolute bliss and absolute solitude, but for once, not loneliness. I am not awake at this time because I have gone out for a night out, or feel things that wont allow me to sleep (plot twist) but because I am quite ill. Now something that was once quite a treat for my elusive and aching soul feels almost like meeting a stranger I’ve heard a lot about from a friend. I haven’t taken some time for myself to just wander alone in my mind in the peculiar depth of the night. Strange, everyone I could usually just text for a chat is asleep and here I am thinking about how my life has changed so drastically and dramatically and wonderfully.
I am thinking about the lessons sent to me in the form of people and unpredictable situations. I am trying to grasp the fact that I am heading towards 22 and if I divide my age by half, I am 11 years old. When I was 11, I am pretty sure I was in a swimming pool most of the time, inside a Clam Shell Sandpit filled with pillows and blankets singing Britney Spears and the South African anthem. My friend Keri would have been arguing with her gran about her brother harassing us and asking what we could make for lunch. An entirely easier life, without any of the incredible experiences I have now but with a lot more gumption and attitude.
Maybe at 44 I will be wondering how I could have ever been so worried and uptight at 22. I am probably dismissing my younger self for not truly understanding what stress is. I hope I have done something worthwhile by then. I hope I am a great mom, and that I’ve written a book or two. I really hope that when I am 44 I am happy. A different happy to the happy I am now. I hope when I am 23 or 33 or 44 that every once in a while I sneak to my laptop to write in the middle of the night. I hope I hear the hum of the fridge and boil the kettle for some tea. I hope I take less sugar in my tea by then. But mostly I hope that I can sit by myself in silence while the world sleeps – or at least my half of it – for a while and feel all kinds of nostalgia. Goodnight world.
“We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations.”
— Anaïs Nin