Some days I am a near freezing cold can of orijin
Other days, I am not.
It’s February 3rd and a month ago, classes started at Adler University, Vancouver — the same school I gained admission into.
I, on my own merit, average GPA and uncanny ability to woo the academic advisors over a Skype interview, was admitted into the Masters in Counselling Psychology program.
Now, I feel bad saying that. I thank God obviously, because I prayed a lot about it and He came through. I was joyous.
As joyous as you are when that Orijin you put in the fridge in the morning is the right temperature for post-work vibes.
Fast forward to October. Nigeria was sinking as it still is. I could not leave this God forsaken country, because as you all know, Nigeria is Kate and we are all Jack (Titanic).
She could help us. She could help us float to safety. But she will rather sell us dreams and watch as our lifeless bodies sink along with the Naira.
This ship wreck happened, and I was furious. Before then, I had never been so angry in my life. It wasn’t the kind of rage that had me fuming at the mouth and clenching my fists. It was the kind of anger that ate away at my peace of mind.
The kind that had me blasting Wale’s entire discography because I didn’t want to deal with my thoughts. The kind of anger that turned into resentment and coated all my words with daggers for anyone who dared to console me. This, my friends is what luke-warm Orijin tastes like.
Since then I’ve been stuck in limbo. I want to be in school but I also want to build PsyndUp. I mean, I started it and it took off.
I say this loosely. It jumped off the ground as much as you do when the choir urges you to jump during praise and worship, but your outfit is too tight and your wig might do a ting.
Thing is, I was okay with this level of “take off”, as God is with your “hop” during praise and worship. My vision was and still is to change the way Nigerians access mental healthcare. But somehow, in all of this, I’ve become a founder/entrepreneur of some sorts and I hate it. I hate labels. It’s too much pressure.
I mean, there are really productive days where I come back from work and I’m able to bang out 6 hours of work for PsyndUp before I sleep off. I thank God for these days — I thank Him for any little recognition PsyndUp gets and for the people who are always willing to help.
There are also days where I sign on to twitter and see the waves other founders are making. On these days, everything sucks. Every little victory seems meaningless next to the idea that “I” might be a failure. Again, I don’t blame God.
I just get disappointed in myself. That warm-Orijin-esque anger comes back, and I resent myself. Anxiety and self-doubt rush in and take over.
This is where my problem lies. How do I, you, we, as entitled, trigger-sensitive, socially awkward millennials create something with as much potential to fail as it does to succeed, without jeopardizing our mental health? Where do they sell this brand of confidence?
This article suggests we treat our work/creations like children. Once they are born, trust they will independently find their place in the world, so we can have enough time and energy to develop our next ideas.
I have also found that before we create anything, God has set its trajectory. He just needs workers and we are fortunate enough to be chosen. So, I find comfort in believing that whatever tries to steal our peace is contending with Him who gives us that peace.
That said, whatever you’re working on, whoever you’re trying to be, trust that once you’ve done all you can, it/you will find its/a way to touch at least one life and change one person’s world. Chale, I think that is enough.
P.s. If you relate, hit me up. I like having conversations about our collective struggles. It makes the journey slightly more enjoyable.
