Why I Didn’t Mind When My World Fell Apart
Not because I didn’t care. It was just more useful to be pragmatic.
It is my firm belief that out of darkness comes light. I have to believe that, or I’ll lose my mind.
My story is about how a series of very unfortunate events tested me beyond what I thought I was capable of. “Everything happens for a reason,” and I think I’ve figured out the reason.
It’s globally agreed that 2020 was the pits. Obviously, there was Coronavirus — which continues to suck — but apart from that, so many things went wrong: devastating global wildfires, shootings, explosions, volcanoes, floods, and Brexit. Looking back, that biblical-style plague of locusts in East Africa right at the beginning of the year, was a pretty bad omen. 2021 shows no improvement.
Yes, the world is falling apart, and within that macro madness, each of us has to contend with the madness of our microcosm. Are we being tested? Is this some kind of emotional Darwinism? What good can we possibly extract from all of this?
These are questions I ask repeatedly because I refuse to believe that the shit life throws at us is all for nothing.
Until a few months ago, I was living contentedly with my husband, dog and cat in a pleasant suburb of Seville, Spain. It’s the kind of place where you know all your neighbours, and there’s always a seat for you at the table, which has been pulled out into the street for al fresco dining on hot summer nights. In Los Bermejales, a simple trip to the fruit and veg shop can take an hour because the shopkeeper knows everyone by name, and everyone knows too much about each other. In the rougher part of town, scary-looking gypsies suddenly break out into wailing flamenco and rhythmic hand clapping. It buzzed with life and it felt like home.
So of course, we left. Presumably because we love to make life difficult.
No, to be fair, the decision was based on wanting to escape the sadness of mandated safe distances, seas of emotionless, masked faces and a collective palpable panic. In the countryside, we’d hoped to shake off the Covid blues and work towards a better future.
Well, that turned out to be a bad idea. Instantly, terrible luck ensued: such a wild string of it that I felt like all the gods had put aside their differences to get together and create a dark comedy show at my expense.
I won’t bore you with details, but the calamity involved almost losing my job due to dreadful internet and having to move house again within a month due to said internet problem; my newly bought, but very old car breaking down on the way to the new house and getting towed back to the original house in Seville, on account of not updating the address on my insurance policy. There was still no internet in the new house for a painstakingly long time, and the car cost as much to repair and retrieve as it had to buy in the first place.
In between these nerve-wrenching events were so many other clangers that the gods kept throwing in to have a good chuckle. For example, my dog inexplicably cutting his leg so badly in the rental car during house move #2, that I nearly fainted at the wheel from the smell and sight of the blood. We were also teetering frighteningly close to being broke, just as everything was costing a fortune (including the dog’s emergency vet bill). Things were getting absurd.
I could never relax; it seemed like anything was possible suddenly, and not in a good way. Disaster loomed around every corner. I was on tenterhooks, waiting for the next blow to strike.
And it struck hard: finding out that my mum had been concealing a weeping, bleeding tumour the size of a grapefruit for months.
Interestingly, throughout all of this, I didn’t break down in tears that many times. Well, there was that one occasion when my husband had to scrape me off the kitchen floor as I banged the cupboards behind me, crying and shouting at a volume that shocked us both. This was to do with driving licences and deadlines and Brexit… And the time my mum was told her tumour was too advanced to be removed and chemo was the only option. That one really was going to be the final straw, so it was no small relief when she was given a much more optimistic second opinion, which lead to her now being cancer-free. Thank the god who must have been having a bout of compassion. And the surgeon.
But for the most part, I was actually quite fascinated by just how terribly things were going. I held steadfastly to the belief that everything was happening for a reason. So in a strange way, I was intrigued, almost excited, to know what the silver lining was going to be. It had better be good, whatever it is, I said.
I still say. Because it hasn’t happened yet.
Though I do feel as though the breakthrough is coming. The trick is to be aware of the signals; to take a step back and review what happened, what’s happening now and what you want to happen next.
It’s so tempting to still curse the day we left our cosy (i.e. tiny) house in Los Bermejales. But what’s the use? All that would do is cause resentment and anger. What we have to do now is own the decision and make the most of it. At least we have a garden now, and a kitchen with space to accommodate both of us at once.
When I found out about my mum’s cancer, I got a flight out to South Africa, where she and my sister live, as soon as I could, for as long as it was permissible to leave my husband alone in a small town in the hills, with two pets to look after. After two wonderful months of being surrounded by love, as well as feeling good about being there for my mum and sister, I understood what I really wanted. What I needed.
Life in Seville had been comfortable and fun. We’d both had jobs, friends and a bit of spare cash. But we needed to push ourselves more to chase our passions. Neither of us was making a living from what we loved. We still aren’t, but we’re sure as hell trying. Perhaps more importantly than that, I realised that I desperately needed to be with family. Especially once my heart had been stolen by my 8-month-old nephew. My mum’s cancer put things into perspective; made me certain of what’s important.
Maybe things went so pear-shaped so I could feel, all the more intensely, the relief and joy that came with being “at home”, with my family. It certainly served to show me that things needn’t be so hard and we don’t have to struggle alone in a country that is home to neither of us, where friends come and go and toast is the only thing on a breakfast menu.
Perhaps it was all a test, to make us come face to face with what it is we really want career-wise, and how hard we are willing to work to achieve it.
I don’t love where we live right now- being neither real countryside nor city- but the lack of stimulation and distraction is giving us both the chance to work on what we love. I’m seeing it as an opportunity to advance. Anyway, I remind myself, in these days of Covid, socialising is not what it used to be. We’ve made our plans for the near future, and we’re excited. Right now, I’m the most optimistic I’ve been in a while.
I thank the hard times for that. I thank the fact that we didn’t fall apart, that we managed to see a funny side, and just trust that it was all happening for a reason.
We have the power to create our own happiness, regardless of the factors that we believe control us. The thing is, you can’t let the hard times win; you have to make them worth your while.
