Up from the wilderness

I submit my soul,
surrendered, seeking rest.
Waiting in Your Word,
to receive Your best.

Though the journey has been long,
and the battles have been many,
it’s in Your love where I am strong –
Your truth has sealed my destiny.

So, I will sing this song of songs
in the back-end of the wilderness
a searching heart returning
caught in Your embrace

I do believe there’s more
the very best is yet to be
What You have in store
You perfect for me

So I will sing this song of songs
in the back-end of the wilderness
a searching heart returning
caught in Your embrace

Calling my own bluff

There’s this limbo, usually right before I decide to get up and do something practical, that I wonder if I’ll ever feel like I’ve done something exceptional, ever again …

For me, that limbo is usually a warning sign. Pick up a pen. Write something. Anything. Get unstuck …

The context is 2 days into a December holiday, after the year that was 2020. A year that ran pretty hard at a few deadlines, and now has abruptly stopped.

So, this writing is a bit of a “avoid the limbo spiral” mission. I shall also be sorting out closets, binging on Netflix series’, finishing five unread books and taking long walks on the (open for now) beach … jip, near-future holiday plans have been derailed by the thing that has derailed a lot of plans this year.

Be that as it may. Thankfulness prevails. But I need to deal with the impending melancholy … hence, turning to the lifeline of stringing thoughts into words …

I’ve been toying with the value of calling my own bluff.

Ripping off the band-aid. Making the ego vulnerable, to free the soul.

Muster up the courage to do something to test if your self-talk, or the things you keep saying you want, actually holds water. A litmus test, as it were.

I’ve had a few brave moments where I have called my own bluff. Some of those moments resulted in fun creative projects. Some opened new doors. Some brought about relational closure.

It’s pretty much the only way to make sure I don’t get stuck in the limbo of potential self-deception.

There are two themes that come up when I think about calling my own bluff.

Both require being pretty vulnerable.

Making music and writing poetry is one theme. I have kept that part of my being alive through playing with creative projects that have varied in their professionalism. I’ve also had seasons where I’ve been a bit negligent. It feels to a degree like creative communication (as in, formally being a screenwriter, or a musician) are careerpaths that I considered for a while, but then didn’t pursue, so I should probably let it go … but then, I can sense the slow fade. And that scares me.

Thankfully, I’ve realised over time that hobbies with commercial potential don’t need to be pressured into income-generating endeavors (even-though the entrepreneur in me can’t help herself … ), so it’s a relatively easy fix. Pick up the pen. Switch on the keyboard. Book the studio time.

Take the first step. See where the momentum goes. Where you land when the wave crashes. Prioritise what you value.

Be wise (think pearls and swine and stuff …),
but call your own bluff.

That’s the easier theme to deal with, since the decision to take something that feels like it might have potential on the inside and turn it into a creative expression that other may or may not value, especially if there is no commercial pressure on it, pretty much is only an ego risk. The creating is its own reward. At least, for me, this blog, and a couple of professionally produced songs and a designed poetry journal carry their own breakthrough, simply because they were created. I don’t need them to be commercially successful. I just needed them to live. Semi-polished expressions, drawn out from a soul jostling with unrefined and divergent creativity.

Probably time for a fresh creative project. Maybe that music video. Or the novel. We’ll see.

The other theme is less varnished. Pretty terrifying, actually. Classic Barbra Streisand and Celine Dion.

Calling your own bluff, and being honest with the actual other party (and not just the 100 other people you keep processing with …) about what you think you may be feeling most definitely doesn’t guarantee that you get the response you think you want.

But, like writing that song or publishing that poem, sometimes awkward honesty has it’s own reward. An emancipation, of sorts. Especially when vulnerability is recognised and valued.

Be wise (think pearls and swine and stuff …),
but call your own bluff.

Ever so often, I need to do that.

Otherwise another year ends with the fifteenth verse of a song that has the same old chorus on repeat: “Maybe … ?“

I’m done with maybe.

Or maybe I’m just done.

Either way.

I won’t be making too many plans. Not because I don’t want to.

But I’ll try to keep stringing some words into sentences. Some of them may even rhyme. And I’ll try to make sure that, regardless, I’m keeping friends.

And long walks on the beach.

Selah.

Dirt-road discoveries

At some stage in my life, I wanted to be a travel journalist. My dream was to explore the world, and write about the things I experienced with words that helped people feel, and understand.

I had a go at it for a bit. Went out on assignment for a travel magazine. Almost wrote off a vehicle on a remote dirt-road, in a thunderstorm. The experience didn’t quite match the expectation.

So, now I travel to unwind from everyday myopia, and I write about the things I feel.

Recently, I had the inkling to take the opportunity that remote working during lock-down brought about to do a cross-country work-from-the-road trip. The plan was to book accommodation in three-hour intervals (recommendation – use the Lekkeslaap website), then drive from early morning (around 5am) to be on time for the day’s work at the next place. For the most part, it played out pretty much as planned. I had to adapt and take a few of the early online meetings from a random Wimpy at an Engen One-Stop. Blurred background … Perfect.

The trip took me up-country through Sutherland, Victoria West, Gariepdam, Welkom (a bit random), and Pretoria, to end the first leg in Tzaneen. Destination: Blyde River Valley.

Part of the beauty of a long road-trip is the unexpected epiphanies that happen in-between the random talk shows on RSG, as you allow the landscape to reveal its mysteries.

Gariepdam presented one of these deeper reflection moments. I drove in from the R58 / R701 side that gives a panoramic view of the dam, winding into the village over the dam wall. The wide expanse of aquamarine water is an unexpected delight after many kilometers of dry Karoo landscape. It’s the dam with the biggest capacity in the country. If you were driving past it at speed on the main N1 highway, and didn’t know it was there, you would miss it completely.

The thought started to form as I drove away the next day. Sometimes, we “speed” past people. We maybe give them a side-glace, and make a too hasty judgement. Perhaps even thinking that there’s not much there. When in fact you may just need to consider another angle to discover immense capacity, and surprising beauty. Take the time to discover. Have the conversations. Ask the questions. You may just be treated to unexpected depth, and delight.

The other deeper awareness happened on the trip back. I inherited a set of fancy glasses from my mother, and the set was finally traveling back home with me. On a few occasions along the way, I almost hit a pothole or took a turn too fast, resulting in a dangerous clinging of crystal. After a few of these near misses, another thought started to form.

You could be on a mission, almost recklessly gunning for whatever goal you’re aiming at. There may be occasions where you forget that there are precious relationships, almost like the crystal glasses in my car, at risk of cracking, or potentially shattering, if you continue on a trajectory of what could be experienced by others as almost absent-minded carelessness. It reminded me to be more aware of how the people in my life may experience my tendency to make rapid decisions, and act on them at break-neck speed. I may be at risk of harming relationships, even though it was never my intention to do so. It reminded me to pause, and consider the impact of my hasty actions on others.

Those were two of the glimpses into a deeper awareness that played out while the different landscapes unfolded in the physical.

From the blue grey gravel-road sunrise over the wide Karoo expanse, to the spotted yellow sandstone rock-faces of the Eastern Freestate where it borders Lesotho. The lush new green of the bushveld after the first rains. The socioeconomic realities, and resilience, of so many of the slumbering small towns on the Platteland.

This country, is breathtaking.

There was one more personal moment where insight dawned on me, as the sun came up over a freezing Karoo landscape.

I realised who I wanted to share that sunrise with.

Those are the types of unexpected dirt-road discoveries that only solitude can lead you to.

Selah.

Define home. For 25 marks.

Since my last reflection, our provincial borders have been opened again for leisure travel. I made a booking to visit my family up-country the moment the announcement was made.

Domestic Departures at Cape Town International felt a little like going through customs at International Departures, with all the health checks and forms. OR Tambo International felt subdued, on skeleton staff, with no one coming through International Arrivals. I observed the faithful superheroes, on the frontlines. Mopping floors and spraying bathrooms and wiping handrailings. Saving lives.

My soul desperately needed the two weeks of just being with my family again, in the bush, surrounded by love, and having daily conversations with my nephews about their school adventures, and mostly Minecraft. Going on game drives and bush walks with my aunt and uncle and cousins. Singing with my sister. Appreciating a craft beer with my brother-in-law around the braai. Just being home. Sleeping a few meters away from where my parents are laid to rest beneath two baobab trees. Next to the hamsters. Life. Afterlife. Precious.

Remote working has its definite perks, and the flexibility to work at full capacity, including co-facilitating two high impact online events from the Blyde River Valley, opened my eyes to the opportunity in the season.

But being back in Hout Bay this week, alone again, made me realise that I am now officially over work-from-home. The shift to online events and meetings is definitely an effective solution for continued project delivery. But as a hybrid extro-intro-vert, I have pretty much reached my capacity-to-introvert.

Life has obviously been disrupted in some way or another, for everyone. Collective trauma. Some have felt the grief of loss, for the first time. Many have had to face uncertainty and financial stress.

Me, I’ve been lonely.

I don’t think lockdown has been ideally timed for anyone. For me, the blessing was the fact that I have a job that I enjoy, and could continue to do from home. I have a safe space to be in, and the circumstances gave me an opportunity to make an effort to be domesticated, and turn a new space into a home. We could return to the mountains over weekends. I do count my blessings. They are vast, and I am thankful.

But my creativity withers without in-person ideation. I’m sort of certain that won’t survive another three months. Know thyself.

The emotional dip of being back, after the sense of wholeness of being with people that really know and love you, made me dig deep again.

There are no external reasons keeping me anywhere. I have complete agency over my decisions. I have no one else to blame for any unhappiness …

I moved from Stellenbosch to Cape Town, away from a ten-year established life for a few reasons.

Firstly – I needed a career-change. I took an amazing position that was ideal for where I wanted to apply myself for the next few years. Working at GreenCape is on the same, if not better level, than receiving and taking up the Reserve Bank Scholarship to study journalism at Rhodes in 2008. I knew in my gut it was a pretty special opportunity, a door opened in answer to prayer, and worth giving up whatever had been a comfort zone.

Secondly – I fell in love. After a few months of external comfortable friendship and inner romantic insecurity, sharing music and mountains, I knew that there were boundaries that would not be crossed. So I needed to create a distance, to give hope a chance to fade.

Hope did fade. But it doesn’t take much to shatter the illusion of distance.

What is home?

Perhaps there is more opportunity in this time than what we ever could have imagined. To define home in the way that we want to.

Selah.

Wobbly weeks

For those lucky enough to have been spared illness and job loss thus far, the mental game of lockdown has probably been one of the more difficult things to navigate.

I am blessed with a very supportive work community, recharge time with friends in the mountain over weekends, and regular catch-ups with family online.

But the past week has been a wobbly one.

I guess the dips in mental well-being is to be expected. And the purpose of this post is to basically just say: “It’s ok to not always be ok.” You are not alone.

I had a moment this week when I pretty much felt like I had reached breaking point. I have quite a high tolerance for complexity, and I really quite enjoy a challenge, but at some point this week I could feel my inner resolve to keep going, snap.

In that moment I had a choice. System shut-down, or phone a friend.

Thankfully, one of my colleagues was online, and I sent her a S.O.S. message, to which she immediately responded with a call that drew me out of the water.

The simple act of acknowledging my need for help, was the lifeline to pull me up from a nosedive.

My sense of humour has returned, and the clouds have lifted again.

But the reality remains – These are not normal days.

My encouragement is: Speak up. Reach out.

The waters will subside again. The rainbow covenant remains.

Selah.

Peripheral routes of persuasion

I’m not much of a public activist. I’m too poetic.

One of the only times I’ve ever ventured into voicing something of a semi-contentious subversive personal opinion in the ocean of people-with-opinions, was years ago, when I penned a sincere open letter to a young Mr Malema, as he started making political media waves. I basically asked if we could be friends, and if our hypothetical children would have a shared future in this nation. The open letter was published in Cape Times and Rapport.

Very few things irritate me as much as irrational online-comment-section-one-liner-accusations-and-arguments, void of nuance and insight. I basically got shot down by people from opposing sides of various polarized fences, who used the same ammunition: You are naive.

I concurred. Only, I know I am, and I strategically deploy it as a superpower.

So, I backed down from publicly pursuing a friendship with Mr. Malema.

And that was my only overt venture into adding, in my personal capacity, to the cacophony of public narrative about the one thing that I have remained passionate about my whole life: This generation’s shared responsibility for the future of South Africa.

There are many things to be overwhelmed by at this time. I don’t have degrees in politics, public policy or economics. I don’t have handles on the socioeconomic and currently, health, crises we are facing as a nation, and as global citizens.

What I have, is intuition, and exposure to multiple facets of what makes up the economy. From the perspective of someone whose work is to get a grip on how things (sectors, industries, wine, nation building, leadership values, business models, value chains, company culture, the REIPPP …) work, or could work, in order to reflect back essence in the form of communication strategies and creative content. The Window and Mirror function. Excellence in Public Relations and Communication Management, 1992, Grunig et al.

I know how we are technically positioned as a nation brand.

And from that viewpoint, we are, to say the least, looking a bit wobbly. We’ve probably breached a few more tipping points. Trip-switches in the warning system.

I also know that there are hundreds of thousands of people working tirelessly to plug holes in what feels like the hull of a besieged ship, with a lovely sail still set to the course of national resilience. Endlessly resourceful. Just really battered, from all sides.

Currently, I don’t do “she writes in her personal capacity”. Except for the writing I do in my personal capacity. But that has a niche readership of people who relate to vulnerability and authenticity on topics that matter to soul and spirit. Transparency is the main value guiding what’s on Tapestry of Thought. It’s basically pasteurized journal entries. The goal is to reflect on internal wrestles, and hopefully get to a sharable conclusion that encourages personal perseverance. Perhaps I’ll stick to that. But not today.

The advocacy stuff that goes on in my mind, I’ve pretty much kept for my own internal dialogue. I have knee-jerk reactions, kept in check, until I find ways to do, rather than speak. Give. Be present. Love with acts. Watch. Listen. Find some form of wisdom to pragmatically slip-stream.

But, I have a restlessness in me that artists would understand. I think I might be getting ready to find ways to add my own, personal, eccentric, small voice to the tangible and intangible causes I care about, that stretch beyond what I have been willing to venture out and say, to date.

I guess that’s what happens when you shift into “next-year-is-40-if-we-survive-this” mode.

So, yes. In no particular order, an actual opinion.

I think a blue plastic milk bottle to “stand out on the shelf” is immature and irresponsible of a strong brand. It’s tone-deaf, from whichever angle you look at it. I hope they go back to the drawing board.

I think the South African entertainment and tourism industries need to keep fighting (and be pragmatic) to safely open, because communities, and our national (arts and natural) heritage, are at stake.

It’s not just the direct jobs and the communities impacted by subsequent income loss. Towns that have economies that are primarily driven by international tourism (from the safari industry in Hoedspruit to the hospitality industry in Franchhoek), have value-chain eco-systems of restaurants, schools, art galleries, street vendors, NPOs etc. that will simply crumble should income streams not be restored soon. I’m sure there have been plans tabled. No easy answers.

What’s my personal views on promoting a green economy for South Africa?

Well, my father was a national energy security lobbyist. In the 80’s and early 90’s.

Let’s just say I’m all for generational restitution.

Here’s to adding your unique voice.

Albeit peripheral. And a bit dramatic.

*The central route to persuasion occurs when a person is persuaded by the content of the message. The peripheral route to persuasion occurs when a person is persuaded by something other than the message’s content.

16 July 2020

What a time to reflect truthfully on a life-year.

Yes, the past four months have been strange. A global health, economic and climate crises makes the world, and this beautiful nation, seem like a pretty topsy-turvey place to be in at the moment. It does feel like war, at times. No denying the suffering and the very real threat to life and livelihoods.

No denying the lock-down loneliness, at times.

But, if I take a moment and go very nuclear with a personal. myopic view on the past 12 months in my own little world, I would be very short-sighted to not acknowledge that it has been one of the best breakthrough years of my life. By the providence of grace.

There are many things that the world wants to define people by. Age. Gender. Marital status. Race.

I’ve tried to navigate around some of the stereotypes that relate to demographics. To not be defined by external realities, but by internal convictions.

But, yes.

On this day, 16 July 2020, I am a 39-year old unmarried woman. Who happens to be white, in a zeitgeist where that is a thorny thing to be.

I spent the past few weeks reflecting on personal purpose, and generally thinking about what it practically means to “keep the faith”, and live a life beyond self-preservation. To stand, and work, for what matters. Pre-midlife crises?

It’s a delicate matter to still want things that are pretty much just normal life for others. It’s a delicate matter to not be trapped in over-compensating with other things.

It’s the biggest challenge to not become so self-absorbed that you forget that you’re a confessed disciple of the One who modeled a totally different, selfless Way.

Because the truth is that authentic human desires are in reality, not exchange-able.

To still want a family is not replaceable by having traveled to multiple nations. To still want a life-partner is not replaceable by the adventures of climbing mountains or changing jobs or buying houses.

The other things are massive prayer-answered blessings too. And to have the precious family-and-friends relationships. adventure memories,  material stuff and career I want in this season of my life is simply grace. It’s humbling to hear things like “you’re an inspiration to other single girls.” And to hear that from different racial groups is the deepest compliment, and an affirmation to shared life-experiences, regardless of the things that try to divide us.

But to be honest, that’s not what I wanted to be. Ever.

I wanted to be married at 25, and be the mom of four children going to high school by now. Yes, with a corner office on the top floor of a glass building. But hey.

I guess this is the age where decisions seem weightier, and time seems more precious. Especially given the fact that humanity is faced with mortality in such a overwhelming way.

Regardless.

I sit here on this sunny morning with a deeply thankful, yet ever-longing, heart.

I choose to believe that this global storm will pass. I choose to believe that the best is yet to come. I still want my life to matter, and for others to benefit from my being here. Eternal perspective overrules temporal expectations.

“Let us hold firmly [without wavering] to the hope that we have confessed, because we can trust God to do what he promised [the one who promised is faithful].” Hebrews 10:23

Selah.

Discoverable

Sometimes a helpful human truth happens upon you during the course of doing something uneventful.

These days, a lot of what gets done happens through electronic and digital means. Many people have had to overcome a resistance to technology, for the sake of maintaining relationships in a weird world where face-to-face conversations over a beer at the local after-hike hangout is not currently possible.

Media-mediated relationships. At least we can chat, albeit interrupted by bad signal, background noise and awkward mute / unmute negotiations. We can still see each other, despite screen fatigue and high data prices. Links to meetings have become lifelines to sanity for those of us navigating this time alone in our social distancing.

It’s better now. The mountains are accessible again, and their trails allow for the joy of limited companionship.

Connection.

This digitalised online world shared a nugget with me recently.

I discovered the wonder-world of online shopping, and got me one of those “the club can’t even handle me right now” earphones. Pink. Bluetooth and all that. (*Not pictured in this post … those are way too pricey …).

Press button. Be discoverable. Type in the code. And there you have it. I can stand in the kitchen jamming to the tunes on my phone in the bedroom on my ears. Miraculous … And yes, if the neighbors were watching they would have concluded that I finally lost it.

This is how my epiphanies work. Something uneventful in the natural world helps me understand something in my soul, or sometimes even something spiritual.

Compatibility.

I’ve been single for a very long time. Awkwardly long. Unspeakably long. You get the point.

Every now and again, someone appears out of the blue. I see him, he sees me. Bluetooth on. There is this dance of making up reasons to spend time together, or to find unnecessary opportunities to engage on whatever topic seems to be the safest option to back out of should one or both decide to invoke the friend-zone. Music. Hiking. Pandemic pathology. Theology. Social entrepreneurship. Series recommendations. Whatever. Searching for device … connect …

A search for connection. A test of compatibility. Are you discoverable, will you let me have the OTP …? And there you go. Paired. I can hear you, you can see me. It’s easy to share. Consent is still required to transfer files, but there is a dedicated commitment to send and receive.

But alas, files can be incompatible with installed software. Memory drives can be too full, with no space for new things. Important files can get lost in cluttered download folders. Too many other devices connected at the same time …

Connection lost. Data transfer failed.

I understood something.

This ability to connect is by no means just meant for potential romantic connections. We get to connect on multiple levels with a multitude of people. This is the richness of being human. Interconnected smart living.

But some levels of connection should be kept sacred. Some data transfers have to be regulated, and some even need to be denied. On and off are both legitimate settings.

The delicate balance lies in being discoverable on whatever level you want to be, open to the right connections, willing to share OTPs where they will be handled with respect. Maintaining firewalls.

For those who understand the language of spiritual counseling, I am talking about being aware of the existence and effects of soul-ties. If someone inappropriately occupies too much of your mental processing capacity for a prolonged time, you may need to change a setting to push the boundaries back. That is sort of one of the practical applications of “guard your heart”. Selah.

Our need and desire for connection is as real as the unseen Bluetooth signal on any smart device. If you are on, and discoverable, you will be found. Your firewalls and passwords are your responsibility. (I am not going to go into the sad reality of people hacking firewalls and violating privacy policies. That is unfortunately another devastation altogether, and one that I don’t deny. It’s just not the point of this post.)

Soul connections is a metaphysical dimension that I seem to be able to sense. It’s almost involuntary. I am intentional about the files I want to transfer, and I notice what gets sent. I know when it’s click-bait. I file things until I’ve decided how to respond. You push too hard, I press delete. You send trash, I block. I send spam, you ignore. It’s not that complicated, actually.

I’m also acutely aware of the possibility of distortion, since so much of the data deciphering happens in the nuance and unspoken parts of relational navigation.

It is very possible to be delusional about an imagined connection, especially where there are deep hurts, or unmet desires. I am aware of the pitfalls of being dedicated to a vain imagination. There are categories of psychosis on the scale of unreciprocated affection, from stammering to stalking. I spent the better part of probably 15 years navigating the agonizing dynamics, as someone I loved suffered from a neurological misalignment that had a relational psychosis element to it. It is over now. Released. Healed.

It has left me, however, a little cautious. Fruits of roots. The psychology is fascinating, but for the sake of sticking to the metaphor: A learned wariness has led to “default setting: guarded” being easier than “tentatively: discoverable”. I know this. My new Bluetooth earphones just reminded me.

I can’t be expecting seamless file transfers if I’ve predetermined that that every man in the world gets overwhelmed by complexity. You see, this is the often-verbalised messaging I’ve had to consistently deal with: You are too much. Well, free up some space then there, lad. The mother-load is on its way.

Someone maybe needs to hear this too: A few transfer compatibility fails don’t have to imply an inevitable and indefinite system shutdown. Reboot. Upgrade software. Hardware, even.

Point being.

You can engineer connection. Plug a cable in …

But that’s just mechanical.

What you can’t force, is compatibility. A mutually acknowledged initial “ok, let’s try this” is often scary as hell, but its technically designed to be pretty natural. With lots of space to move. To share. To see. To be heard. To listen. To pursue. To respect choice.

It does take some time to know … This one’s safe. The force is strong with that one. Steer clear. Try again. Don’t go there. Shift tactics. Relax. Back paddle. Soldier on. Nudge gently. Back off.

Let go. Wait, and see.

Just don’t shut down.

The nuances of reciprocated file sharing. To recognise compatibility from making a true connection.

Selah.

Word of the week

I have a habit of journaling.

It helps me unravel complex emotions by stripping away layers of internal thoughts and external opinions, to touch the essence of what I feel, and hopefully, why I feel that way. I believe that being self-aware (not self-conscious, or self-absorbed), is an important barometer to have in life. It’s the basis of emotional intelligence, and its pretty important in maintaining healthy relationships. I need to take responsibility for my own emotions, otherwise someone or something else, has the control.

More often than not, pages and pages of fierce scribbling, a mixture between ruthless honesty and prayer, leads me to one word.

When I hit that one word, I know I might be onto something that will help me navigate the territory of truth vs. lies. When I have a word, I start to unpacks its meaning. I play with its syllables, and break it up into its structured parts. I basically interrogate this word until it teaches me something useful about myself that I can apply to move forward.

The word that I grappled with recently, is an Afrikaans one:

Vrymoedig.

The best English translation of the word is probably along the lines of: Taking the liberty to …

Vry. Moedig. Free. Brave.

Free to be brave.

The five pages of scribbling that got me to that word were pretty much filled with trying to figure out why I often second-guess myself when I take even a small risk. I guess it’s normal to feel vulnerable, but it’s that uncomfortable place that I wanted to go to with the journaling.

Basically, when I take the liberty to step out of “the box”, my internal emotional response post-action is exhausting. I am naturally wired to be different and think different, but the moment I act in a way that is true to this nature, all internal hell breaks loose – my liberty suffers an onslaught of insecurity. I’ve thankfully learned to keep most of that to the pages of my journal, but it’s still no way to live …

Sometimes, it takes me a few days … months … years … to recognise patterns like this.

Patterns of response. Learned behaviour

Much like with physical pain, if your emotional reaction to something is painful, you’re going to eventually figure a way out to not experience that pain. It hurts when I touch the hot stove. Ok. Don’t touch the hot stove. It’s all fair and well if this is a necessary protective learned behaviour.

But it’s less helpful if your learned emotional response is in reaction to a hurt that wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place.

Hoekom is ek so versigtig? (Why am I so overly cautious?) Waar is my vrymoedigheid? (Where is my liberty?)

This has to do with being vocal about my real opinions or political views. It has to do with recording the rest of the album. It has to do with writing the controversial novel. It has to do with men and relationships.

It has to do with everything.

And even though I won’t bore you with the revelation of why being “vrymoedig” has been such a struggle for me, I can say that stripping away lies to touch the truth, does start to shed light on the path towards walking in freedom.

Vrymoedig. Vry. Moedig.

Free to be brave. At liberty.

Loved.

Selah.

Not the end

I guess one thing that we have a degree of control over in these strange days, is how honest we choose to be with ourselves.

And I must admit. As someone who has been through cycles of grief and mourning, I am actually seeing some similar behavioral patterns emerge. Especially hyper-productivity, and then exhaustion. I replied to a message from someone asking how I was doing a few days ago with the following: “Busy is better.” True, to a degree.

But, when I re-read that I realised that that I’m probably over-compensating.

And that was a pattern I recognised, having thrown myself into work and music to deal with loss on previous occasions.

Which does make sense, right?

We are all experiencing loss in this time, to various degrees.

For some, theirs is the devastating loss of loved ones. For others, the loss of assurance that there will even be something to return to after this invisible enemy has been subdued. For many, there is the underlying loss of a sense of security and safety. The loss of freedom of movement has a huge psychological effect, and a loss of a sense of control is foundation-shaking stuff.

The whole world just feels pretty scary, at the moment. And loss triggers grief, and grief triggers the weird roller-coaster that is mourning. Take it easy, on yourself, and others.

For some, the emotions may not be that intense.

You’re basically just starting to be a bit bored with your living-room paint colour. Or you’re getting tired of onscreen meetings and conspiracy theories on social media.

Fair enough.

The point is, taking the time to acknowledge real feelings can be useful.

That’s where being alone can either be a blessing, or a snare. There’s all this time to be real with yourself …

So, I’ll be real with you too.

Seeing other people figuring out how to be together in this time, as couples, or with their families, stirs up various emotions in my own heart.

Longing, for one. Relief, for another.

You see, I know it’s actually easier to be by yourself than to have to consistently face a tough family situation, and have no way to escape. Trust me.

But then there’s the flip-side to that coin. Being comfortable with your own company during lockdown has its perks, but it definitely also has its challenges.

One of the joys I have during lockdown is to do a daily whatsapp call with my sister. I also have various family- and friend groups that do Zoom chills and facetime calls, so their isn’t a sense of being isolated. I am connecting with colleagues during the week, and there are multiple conversations happening at any given moment on multiple platforms.

On one level, things simply shifted gears onto another way of connecting, and figuring out how to make things work differently. Creativity is for problem-solving, right?

But there are moments where the ache is acute.

Alone.

There have been a few instances where I had to face that word. The one time was on a hospital lounge chair at 1am, outside an ICU.

“Peace I give you, not as the world gives.”

You see, a few hours prior to that night in that hospital, I was on a plane after getting the call you never want to get from a doctor: “It’s really serious.”

I closed my eyes for a second during the terrifying flight, and a vision as vivid as an actual video played in my minds eye.

I saw the crucifixion. From slightly above, I saw Jesus, on the cross, as if I were looking over His right shoulder. I could see His bleeding face, and the crown of thorns, from the side.

For a few seconds, and then the vision was gone again.

From that moment on, I knew “alone” would never mean forsaken.

What followed after that night, keeping vigil in front of a closed ICU door, is more than 10 years of testimony that even a darkest hour of deepest loss, and the subsequent losses thereafter, cannot separate me from the love that I had been given a glimpse of on that night, 17 September 2009.

And I guess, that’s the significance of celebrating Passover during the time when the world feels more broken than usual.

“But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.” Is. 53:5

We have this hope.

Alone, is not the same as forsaken.

Broken, is not the end.

Selah.