My Inner Child Walks Into A Therapy Session.
I never really cared for a carefully planned existence. Part of the reason for that is a certain “as it comes, we go freestyle” energy that I exude. It makes me the spontaneous and fun person my friends claim I am.
I like to be referred to as that. It makes life easier if the people you love don’t think you’re boring.
Just a personal opinion.
The problem with my view on life as a potential Barney adventure is that bills don’t share the same purview of the matter. This is harmful to my existence as a fun-loving sweet human.
I have been serving my country for about 7 months now, and one thing I can tell you now is Barney would probably lose all the love he has for the strangers on his eponymous show if he experienced Nigerians and our excuse for sanity and structures across various organizations.
Would Barney argue with conductors on a rickety bus, driven at unsafe speeds towards passenger destinations?
No, and that would be the start of his problems with the people of this nation.
We are always in motion, never once pausing to consider our places on this globe. We push, day to day, in search of better standards of living in a country that is in turmoil most of the time. There is no time to breathe, as most people believe that they will lose or worse, be poor if they pause. So those who can organize in the midst of all the chaos, do. And those who can’t, live day to day, figuring out survival against the next day.
Herein lies my problem. Since I don’t really care for a rigid, planned existence, I routinely get panic attacks when I see what my colleagues are putting together on LinkedIn profiles and securing jobs that they shouldn’t be working at least for another 5,10 years.
We have, as a country, decided to get behind the wheel of a hustle culture mobile in hopes that we avoid the crunch that Nigeria brings upon those who don’t organize against it.
It sucks.
I want to have the space to experiment and explore and more than most, I can, but not to the degree that I would like to. The point of experiments is to fail and improve, but no one wants to take a chance on ventures that don’t have guaranteed success.
The establishment I’m attached to, for instance, is fine with established patterns and procedures. It’s fine for the most part, but real change comes from experiments and no one wants to be that person who tries. They are fine with the idea of shuffling in and out of work, stacking a little bit of savings at the end of the month, and repeating for decades.
Should we as a people aim for greater heights, even as the country around us is falling to pieces?
For those of us with no connection to the elites and their nepotism-tinged approach to business and wealth, how do we really get the access and freedom needed to transcend the daily struggle?
For me, the answer lies in day-to-day resistance.
A little hobby finding here, a little pet project there and the exhaust fume-filled air will pale in comparison.
Our Barney costumes will shake off the ash of failure and drone-like conditioning and will sing, in resplendent purple, “I love you and you love me” and mean it.
We will, in our little ways resist the patterns that have come to be and be better for it.
So, as I write this, with my back bent and no single to-do list for my tomorrow, do well to remember to find the small joys in life. Riding a bicycle, running in the rain, plaiting your sister’s hair, sharing a joke with your friends, seeing a film with your loved one.
They all matter, all those things capitalism calls a waste of time.
Final tip from the seasoned writer. If you are going to fight your conductor tomorrow, remember to engage in violence safely.
I chose the pen, and you chose fists.
Wear a helmet.
