Illogically happy

Written 23 January 2012

It’s a beautiful day – cool, grey and rainy. This morning, my children and I were pleasantly surprised to hear the sound of the rain, and oohed and aahed about how lovely it was. This is after a week of such intense heat in Cape Town, that many people behaved as though it had never happened before, with regular references made to global warming. The truth is, February might be our hottest month, but we have very hot weather from mid-January every year. How do I know? I keep diaries!

In fact, on a nostalgia trip this past week, I’ve been reading the diaries I’ve kept for my children. I started my son’s one when he was born, which means I’ve been writing to him for about 17 years. My daughter’s journals started when I was four weeks into my pregnancy, so I’ve been writing to her for about fourteen years. When they were babies and toddlers I wrote a lot, and some of the entries are hilarious. I’m so glad I kept the diaries, because one forgets all those precious little things, as time passes.

From about 2009 to 2011, there wasn’t much journaling to them, for some reason or other, but I’m back – with a mission! I’ve been writing regularly since November, and enjoying that part of my writing life again. All along, the plan was to give them the diaries when they turned 18, but, for Nick, that’s in 11 months’ time, and I don’t feel ready yet, so I’ve decided that 21 will be the handover age. Knowing me, I’ll continue writing to them after their 21^st birthdays, and just let them know where to find the diaries when I die. That is, of course, assuming they have their 21st and a good couple of other birthdays before I die!

Funny how hard it is to write, “die”, when everything inside me screams for a euphemism. It’s the one thing in life we KNOW will happen to us, but oh how we avoid the topic. We prepare for everything else, except that. I want to write out my wishes for my funeral, because I know exactly what I want and what I don’t. It would be such a lie for me to have a church service, with hymns and prayers, because that’s not part of my life now. Music, definitely. Poetry, too. People sharing with people. Cremation. And a party. With more food than we had at my dad’s funeral, please! In the vulnerability of the moment, my family had underestimated the turn-out at my dad’s funeral, and not only was the church hopelessly too small for the crowd, but the eats disappeared in minutes, with many people not getting a thing. There’s a time for modesty, and a time for practicality. He was a popular guy, well-known and well-liked. Besides, he was what I’d call a “great funeral-goer”, always at someone’s funeral, like that was his Saturday thing, so I think people also reciprocated, because he’d been to so many of their family funerals.

But, I digress.

Back to the subject of this post. In a way that’s hard - very hard - to explain to most people, I am happier than I’ve been in a long time. And yet, given my employment predicament, with the resulting financial crisis, it’s completely illogical. When I did Psychology, many years ago, I was fascinated by the term, “compartmentalize”, because it was something I had always been able to do, so I thought everyone did it. I’ve always been able to enjoy and appreciate the ‘blessings’ in one part of my life, without being blind to the severe challenges in another. It’s a way of going through life that has brought me through many, many dark patches. In Psychology, it’s often referred to in the context of coping mechanisms during or after trauma, where survivors block out unpleasant thoughts, in order to cope with the demands of everyday life. I suppose that is exactly what I’m doing, after all! J

I was talking to someone, the other day, who was stressing about his teenage son, and I said that he needed to sit it out, because it would pass - it was a normal teenage phase. I said the boy was going through a transition, and that it was like going through a tunnel: when you’re in it, everything’s amplified, the sounds, the darkness, the fears, the imagined horrors, and the feeling that it will never end; but, just when you think you’re going to stay in it forever, you’re plunged into the bright light of daytime, and it’s so intense, at first, that it almost blinds you – but then you adjust to it, and your new reality is filled with light, clarity and direction.

So why am I so happy? I have two incredible children, who never cease to fascinate me, and who’ve given me insights into modern life that I probably wouldn’t’ve had, had I not had them in my life. They’ve introduced me to music I never would’ve listened to, like Linkin Park, Thirty Seconds To Mars and Panic At the Disco! I don’t necessarily like all their music, but the point is my world’s opened up because of them and what they listen to. At the same time, I’ve just loaded onto my laptop two of my son’s CDs – The John Scofield Band, and Chick Corea! He also loves the a capella band I listened to fanatically in my twenties, “Take 6”, and it’s eerie to hear him sing the same songs I’ve known every note of, for decades!

I’m happy, because I’m comfortable with a level of spirituality and faith that’s not about church or any of those institutionalized conventions. It’s linked to nature, and gives me a sense of peace that transcends the fear-based, do-it-right-or-God-will-punish-you socialization many of us had (and continue to pass on, unquestioningly, to the next unsuspecting generation). It doesn’t make me oblivious to my problems or lull me into a false sense of security, based on a promise of a better life in the hereafter – that rhetoric hasn’t resonated with me for at least twenty years. But it does give me a deep sense of connectedness to people, especially people who don’t have easy lives, and equips me with an understanding and non-judgemental attitude towards them.

I’m happy, because I have friends and family who love me. I needed to sink very low, in my spirit, as a result of my financial situation, in order for me to look up and see, clearly, what surrounded me – unconditional love and acceptance.

I’m happy, because I’m free. It feels like everything I’ve experienced, for the past 50 years, has brought me to where I am today – crystal clear about who I am and what I’m prepared to welcome into my life, and what I won’t go near. It’s a good space to be in, for my art, my world of work, and for relationships. I have the freedom to grow into whom I was always meant to be, and I hadn’t realised how being in a dysfunctional relationship - which we never perceive it as, when we’re in it – had caused me to stagnate.

So, after three decades and three long-term relationships which, in different ways, contributed to the Trudy I am today, I am easing into my new-found life as a single person, and finding that this is exactly where I’m supposed to be. It’s exciting finding how different life is, when you’re single, and just how much space you have, physically and emotionally, to flex yourself, to spread your wings, and to venture much further from the nest. Accepting invitations to formal celebrations, and choosing to go unaccompanied, is another experience altogether.

I do have some serious issues in my life, and I spend a lot of time trying to sort them out, always conscious that the economic climate in South Africa (and the world) does not necessarily favour my chosen path. But, with a fierce belief in the inevitability of that light at the end of the tunnel, I journey on.

In the 1980’s, I had a wonderful landlord, who was blessed, not only with a long, happy life and a loving family, but also with a wife who was his soul mate, and a true woman of substance: Mr. Bloemetje. I lived on their premises for a total of seven years. He used to call me, when I was studying two degree courses a year, part-time, a “steady plodder”. He also loved the saying, “The darkest hour comes just before the dawn.” He was a wise old man, and I loved chatting to him.

Maybe more of his words of wisdom took root than we’d both realised.