If I absolutely had to describe my 2017 so far with one word, I’d say ‘Dramatic’. This would of course be in a situation where I really, really had to pick a word, you know, the cliché gun-pointed-at-your-head type of scenario.
This year has been a lot for me to take in, and for the most part of it, I’ve felt like I was riding shotgun in a keke on a terribly pot-holed filled road (which is the closest I’ve probably ever come to a roller coaster ride). The year started with me quitting a seemingly comfortable job in Port-Harcourt where I was surrounded by most of the people I care about, and moving to Lagos to battle what seemed to have been an eternity of couch-surfing (read ‘Homelessness’) and followed by a really bad real estate decision which was mostly fueled by desperation.
But I’ve enjoyed it so far. I think that for the first time in my adulthood, I’m in complete control of the events that happen in my life, and while this has not gone as smoothly as I had previously imagined, it has been a pretty valuable learning process. For someone who very often jumps off cliffs hoping he would learn how to fly before he hit the ground (metaphorically speaking), and who is currently sporting the resultant mental and emotional scars of these adventures, I think I’m finally on track towards getting it right. It may take a few more tries but I’m excited at the thought of looking back, and being grateful for the level of progress I’ve been able to achieve. In a way, I can say that I’m proud of the man I’m becoming, and in another way, I’m not. My journey to self-discovery has come at an incredibly and sometimes, I think, unnecessary cost.
High because, I have effectively lost all ties with the people who I once held dear to me. The amazing relationships I’d previously been blessed with have all been severed in the course of this early life crisis. Sometimes, I like to think that life would give me another shot at repairing these, but if I’ve learned anything from the two decades I’ve been on this floating rock, it’s that relationships, once broken, can be very difficult to repair, and even if you manage to repair them, you’ll still have the cracks on them as a gentle reminder of the once dark past. Like when I broke my favorite mug.
Unnecessary because, I could have involved these people I’ve lost in my journey. They all wanted to opt in at one point or another, but in my (bloated?) sense of responsibility, I had refused. I did not want them to have to walk through this dark tunnel with me. It basically seemed unfair to them and in retrospect, maybe I was wrong. Or maybe I wasn’t. Perhaps, for me, hindsight is not 20/20 after all.
I just hope I can be given the opportunity to reconnect with these people as soon as I’m out on the other side of this ordeal, and if I believed in a higher power, I’d pray that he/she makes this happen.