And so on the final day of July, I share with you the beginning of my story. I wondered whether to still do it or not. A lot of things have changed in my life since I started this blog, and I am not afraid to change my mind. But something within me knows that I must write, and I must share this story. Even if it is not perfect, it is mine. And I hope you enjoy it…
~
“Why don’t you write a book?”
Just hearing those words made me cringe. I didn’t know how to respond. I breathed in and caught my breath half way… a series of thoughts enter my mind. But it’s not so simple, I think to myself. Where do I begin? Every life is a series of lives running together. In the morning I am one person, and in the afternoon I am someone else. While I sleep, I live a thousand different lives only some of which I remember. Which story should I tell? My head started to swim in a sea full of possibilities, once again, disorienting me. I forgot I was in a room with someone else. In fact, I wasn’t just in a room, I was in her room. Her living room.
“You can make things simple if you want.”
I looked up at where the voice came from. She was sitting in her chair, cross legged, smiling at me. I knew I didn’t have to say anything. Sometimes you meet people who are such an accurate reflection of yourself, that when they read their reflection in you… it seems as if they reach directly into your soul.
“You’re right.” Is all I came up with, and then I looked out of the big window, at the other apartment buildings and the bright, white sky. It had been overcast every day in Prague so far, but somehow a soft beautiful light still flooded into the apartment every morning. It soothed me, and I could feel my heart beating a little softer. The very idea of sharing my story scared me. Not only would I need to share it with others, but I would need to leaf through the archives of memories I had. Not all of which were pleasant. Not all of which I wanted to revisit.
“Every story has multiple versions, even when told from your own point of view. Why don’t you speak about it? Tell me your story, as you feel it to be now. With no conditions that it should be written.”
I thought for a minute, taken aback by the idea. It was a good one. I felt at ease. This I could do. “But I can’t tell my story in one sitting, it’s long, and I don’t know where to begin.”
“Begin at the beginning, and why don’t we meet every morning like this?”
I wanted to smile but held it back, I didn’t want to show that I was interested. After all she had a lot to do with her day, and maybe I would become a burden.
“You have been here for a week now, and we have talked like this every morning. I like to listen, and I like you.”
“Okay, I would really like this.” I revealed my smile now, it felt safe to do so.
“Plus, I like having you around, but as you said you must leave in two weeks. And if we meet like this in the morning, go through your story, maybe it will help you to decide where to go next.”
I nodded. This seemed like an arrangement that was good for both of us. And I knew what she said was true. We worked well together somehow. Even though the apartment was small, there was only one bed which we shared… somehow we found our own space. In the morning, she would come into the kitchen and meditate. I would remain in the bed and do my own reflection, start to prepare myself for the day. Then, we would meet like this, talk for an hour or so, and she would go to her room to do yoga while I had breakfast and looked for a new café to try.
It was amazing how in the past, I’d lived in much bigger houses with perhaps much closer friends, but yet I’d felt much less free. More constricted. And to think that I hadn’t seen her in over 5 years. I was glad to be back in her company. Not only was it a good place for me to feel comfortable, it felt like fertile soil in which to grow. I learned a lot from her wisdom. Even though she was older than me, she treated me like an equal and an adult. She gave me room to figure out my life. But she was also right when she said that I needed to go soon.
I was in Europe on a tourist visa, and my three months were coming to an end quickly. I needed to decide if I were to go to the UK or a different country outside the European area. She was right.
“Let’s make another coffee.” She got up, to prepare our drinks and I leaned back, considering where to start. The beginning. The beginning, well it was six years ago. Maybe longer than that. It depended what kind of a story I wanted to tell… did I want to tell a tale of love, which began in a dark way with a broken heart? Or did I want to tell a story of adventure, which started with all my hopes and dreams? Love seemed to be too difficult a subject, as my heart was in the midst of picking up its pieces… once again. And besides, I wanted to be a bit more optimistic. It would be better to start the story with how everything falling apart in my life had been the biggest blessing.
I had built for myself a big, dark house. It was square, normal, boring. A lot of space in which to be frustrated, and a lot of money with which I could resolve my frustrations temporarily. It looked the same as everyone else’s, which is why I thought it was good. Until one day… a hole in the wall. A leak in the ceiling. A crack in the floor. It started to crumble. At first I tried to cover up the faults, so others wouldn’t see. But then the foundations began to shake. I had to start pushing things back in place and gluing things together. Until eventually my image became the least of my worries, as I realised that soon, the house would inevitably fall down. I had two choices. I could stay and let it fall on top of me, or I could run outside to the unknown.
This is a story about how I decided not to be buried under the rubble of my own failures, but go outside and take my chances on building something new.
~
Leave a Reply