14 September 2010


The present can have a scary momentum; maybe that's why it's called current. The relationships we build, the formal and informal systems of doing things that we knowingly and unknowing create, the major and minor commitments we make - be it signing contracts to printing namecards - they build upon each other and snowball. But a strong current does not mean it will take you where you want to go. It may well take you further away from it. Doing nothing will only mean you are pulled along with the current, building more relationships and creating more systems and making more commitments, until one day you are no longer able to go against the flow.

It was time to go.

There was guilt and regret and sadness as I broke the relationship that underpinned everything. It is only a matter of time before everything else unravels and leaves me free again. I had swum against the current; I had pulled myself out of the stream.

And now, on the shore of endless possibilities once more, I feel disoriented. There is no current pushing me, nothing to dictate my daily schedule. I feel nervous, because now I have to find a new direction to plunge into. I feel afraid, because now I am alone again.

But most of all, I feel hope. I had felt hope before, while still trapped in the stream, but it was a timid and desperate hope, that things will somehow, anyhow, change.

This is different: this is powerful and radiant, a happy kind of hope. It is, I suspect, the same type of hope that has driven mankind to all progress. The hope for the better. The hope that there is something greater out there, and that by leaving everything behind we have put ourselves in reach of it.

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