Indigo — or the necessity of feeling at home within yourself

Do you have a favourite pair of denims? Are you wearing them now, like me? If you are, don’t look. Just close your eyes and feel them on your body. Oh… you can’t? That’s exactly right, because like the old pair of denims I am wearing they have probably moulded around you in a way that makes them un-feelable.

Now, have a think about what they look like (don’t peek!). Describe them in your head with words. Yes, it’s difficult, I know. That’s because you have gotten so used to wearing them that you don’t pay any attention anymore to their very fabric, their seams, their buttons, their rips, or their tears. Mine have a huge rip across my left knee, and now that I think of it I can feel the cool winter air coming in.

In the past few months, I have toned down the work mania I was in for two decades. Many moments of the new free time I suddenly had I can only describe as indigo blue, not in the colour sense of the word.

As I slowly got used to having more time for introspection, I had a closer look at myself, and I paid attention to the fabric I am made of.

Like my pair of jeans, I, myself, had moulded around me so that I had forgotten what ME actually feels like.

I travelled. I returned. I reconnected with an old friend who truly always understood the essence of me, and fireworks went off in my soul when I felt just accepted, cherished, supported, and listened to. I made a few new friends, quarrelled with and lost some acquaintances. I redecorated my study, I gave most of my clothes to charity. I stopped colouring my hair and chopped it into a pixie.

And slowly, but surely, I began to feel and see myself again as I truly am. The sight is not always pretty, there is some tired wear-and-tear, and some frayed rips from painful encounters along the way. Will I mend them? No need. They are part of the fabric that makes me ME. With all my imperfections, I am me, and that’s where I am finally comfortable.