I should have learnt by now that I am a useless planner.
You see it all started in December in South Africa when I sat still and listened to my soul. It cried out desperately to return home, that my time in the UK had come to an end. My want is to write about Africa, to reconnect with the land and be an authentic person, knowing full well that the storm in my soul will never be calmed unless I face my country once again.
With this in mind I sucked up my courage and got another waitressing job back in the UK to finance my dream. At the end of October I would have sorted out life's little annoyances and built up enough of a financial reserve to fly home for good. There I would meet up with my mate on the 13th November to celebrate my return and somewhere in between have found my dream home. It was a good plan.
So I landed a three month contract which should have been a breeze - the people are great, I have no responsibilities and no longer take IT seriously after all I am a writer not a consultant. I fooled myself into believing that I could go to work, keep my head down, disconnect from the job and in the evenings I would work on my book. It all seemed to be panning out.
During my last few months in the UK, my intention was to extract myself from London quietly so that one day I would just disappear from the London scene and my friends would barely notice my absence. You see I have always known that leaving my friends behind would be the hardest thing for me as they are no longer just friends. They are my family and a part of my soul. They are the reason for me being able to grow creatively and emotionally even though they don't know it.
Unfortunately as for most of my plans, this one seems dangerously close to failing. As the months have past, so my resolve has weakened. I seem to be spending most of my energy convincing myself that moving back to SA is the right thing to do and yet somehow the image of sundowners at the Waterfront and Tai Chi on the beach seems to be fading. One of the biggest reasons is that my dear friend is pregnant and her baby will only take its first breath after I have left. This saddens me greatly. I want to be there for this momentous occasion.
As for work, I seem to be incapable of being quiet and not getting involved in things. So now I am being drawn in deeper and I am constantly fighting to pull back and let other people handle things. I keep telling myself only 8 weeks and then freedom, it is my only lifeline.
Then there is the other thing and I don't know what it is. My energy has been unsettled for weeks now and I only feel calm when I disppear into my book. As soon as I stop writing, my energy gets out of control again - I see it changing colour constantly as if it doesn't know what it should be. I feel like the rope in the tug-of-war where the prize is my soul. I need to go home but I don't want to lose what I have here.
I just don't know what to do anymore. My African drums seem to be fading as London grabs hold of me once again and it scares me. I do not want to stay here, I do not want to wake up 5 years from now and regret not going home. I do not want to be the person I am today.
I guess I should just go with the flow and let life guide me. Planning has never been my strong point, I know that I need to close my eyes and leap into the unknown future. I know that the Universe will set me on the right path, whatever it may be.