Turns out, I’m not great with inactivity and lack of structure.

All this time and space to figure out my next move - which sounded so romantic when I was up to my neck in work - is sitting pretty uncomfortably right now.

Which - I know - means it’s where I need to be. A moment not to rush through or fill.

Although I have tried. My second week back I re-imagined our living room and promptly set about trying to sell our dining table set and find the perfect replacement. You know, real deep and meaningful stuff.

I could see myself doing it. It was like watching myself from outside my own body, peering down from above, shaking my head at the circles I was creating to run around. I put a whole bunch of miles on the car, zipping through Cape Town’s suburbs looking for bar stools.

Truth be told, I’m still in it, and it’s hard not to berate myself for that. I am trying to resist the pull of productivity, the siren call of ticking tasks off a list of my own invention. It’s so much easier than sitting with questions about what I want to do, who I want to do it with, what steps I need to take to get there. I keep coming back to this great Thich Nhat Hanh quote:

“The main affliction of our modern civilization is that we don't know how to handle the suffering inside us and we try to cover it up with all kinds of consumption.” 

I feel like I am a living example of this right now. So uncomfortable with whatever needs to emerge (and the patience it takes to let it come through) that I’m bent on all kinds of consumerism: not just seeking and comparing and buying stuff, but binging TV shows with strong female leads trying to forge their own path, and, at the end of the day, finding delicious food and South African wine to consume.

And yet, feeling ashamed of this only compounds the suffering. The only way out is through. Seeing and accepting that this is the habit pattern of the mind, and then, as kindly as possible, attempting to course correct. Starting again.

It’s incredible how hard it is to be still, to allow. And it helps me to realize that, while part of this is the nature of the human mind, a whole lot of it is due to systems like capitalism that tell me I’m only worth what I produce and in turn consume. What thoughts could I be thinking - what worlds could I be imagining if my head wasn’t full of online shopping reviews and plans to buy the perfect patio furniture?

Enough-ness really is the enemy of consumer culture. Believing that what I have - and more importantly what I am - is sufficient runs counter to so many societal messages trying to convince me that I need whatever they’re trying to sell me.

Remembering this helps, in that it makes stillness feel like a small act of rebellion. Not something lazy or selfish.

And then, when I do sit still long enough, I realize that a big part of what I’m feeling is sadness, tinged with a sense of powerlessness. Several friends have suddenly and unexpectedly lost parents in recent weeks. Our own parents are experiencing ongoing health issues. My 94 year old grandmother just moved from the home where she raised my dad and his siblings, and where I spent many joyful holidays and family gatherings, into assisted living. I’m a little bit at a loss as to where to go next in my career, in large part because of my skepticism that any of the old models I’ve been working within are really doing enough, fast enough, with enough audacity.

It feels like I’m entering a new season of life, one that I’m absolutely certain has amazing things in store for me. But there’s more than a little nostalgia for the seasons I’ve already passed through.

Right now, today, here and now - feels a bit like a liminal space. Not the old life, not yet the new.

I’m doing my best to be here for it.