Stream of Consciousness

To be more specific, it's stream of consciousness at three a.m. - so don't say I didn't warn you!

So, I made it safely back to Africa. Despite a minor plane malfunction that left me hanging out in the Dakar, Senegal airport for an hour or so. But I’m back…for a little while anyway.

I cried a little in the Atlanta airport and again as the plane was taking off, but I don’t feel as empty as I did the last time I came back from visiting home. Perhaps it’s because I know I will be going back to the US in just a few short months. Or maybe it’s because coming back to Africa this time meant being reunited with Roger. Or maybe I’m just more okay with living here than I was five months ago.

When so many of you ask me how I like living in South Africa, I don’t know what to say. Usually I go with something like “I’m enjoying it, but it’s certainly not forever,” or “I love the adventure, but of course I’m a little homesick.” Both statements are true, but also intentionally vague. The truth is – the answer is more complicated than small-talk allows.

In those first months, had you asked me if I liked living here, I would have said yes whether it was true or not. In fact, I hardly gave myself a chance to truly evaluate the question for fear of discovering the answer wasn’t what I wanted it to be. I suppose I thought that if I said it enough, it would eventually be true.

It’s a good theory. And it works, I suppose. I can now confidently say that I do like living in South Africa. But ironically, the thing I love most is also the thing that causes so much of my “angst” (then again, every good writer needs a little angst). You see, part of the reason that moving to South Africa was so attractive to me was the career change. I envisioned myself spending my days at the computer, churning out a novel or two. No more weekends spent sitting in a construction trailer or a model home. No more driving fifty miles to and from work, getting home at eight o’clock. No more verbally abusive Monday morning sales meetings. I could say goodbye to that part of my life (of course I would also say goodbye to a rather impressive income, but I was okay with that).

But now that I’m here, my days in front of the computer feel indulgent. I feel guilty. I hear a voice telling me my novels and short stories – even my blog – are a waste of time and will never amount to anything. So I try to focus more on copywriting because it generates income, thereby validating my existence somehow...

I realize now that formerly, my identity was very much tied up in my career as a real estate agent. Not so much in the title itself, but in the fact that I was financially successful, that I was a hard worker, that I was willing to sacrifice every weekend for my job. Those facts became who I was. So who am I now? Who is this girl who occasionally works and, lately, spends most of her time on vacation? I barely recognize her, and at times, I’m kind of embarrassed by her.

And yet…

Isn’t this why I agreed to come to Africa? So I could focus on my writing…enjoy life a little more…stop living to work instead of working to live?

So why am I beating myself up?

The thing is – I am the queen of “should” and “shouldn’t.” I think I’m not fully enjoying this experience because of the thousand “shoulds” running though my mind. I should be working more. I shouldn’t be eating this. I should be doing laundry. I should have a baby. I shouldn’t watch so much TV. I should be more organized. I shouldn’t travel so much. I should be making more money. I should know more about world events. I should empty the dishwasher. I should go to the gym……

It’s not that I want to banish the “shoulds” completely – sometimes they are just the kick in the pants that I need. The “shoulds” force me to set goals and demand more from myself (and occasionally empty the dishwasher!). But lately, instead of inciting action, I find myself standing still – overwhemed by everything I'm not instead of encouraging the things that I am. I'm paralyzed by the fear of failing at whatever it is that I “should” be doing. Fear of doing it wrong. Fear of saying something stupid. Fear of misunderstanding, of not knowing the answer. Fear of spending 3,000 hours on a novel and having it suck. Fear of posting my innermost thoughts on the internet and being laughed at. Fear of finding out that all of my potential doesn’t amount to much at all.

It’s late and once again my restless mind is keeping me up. This time, however, instead of lying in bed and telling myself that I “should” use my time as an insomniac to do something productive, I actually got out of bed to do it (that is, if you consider my blog productive). I tell you this so that you will forgive the “tortured soul” tone of this post. For I assure you that I’m not depressed or miserable, but doesn’t everyone feel a bit tortured when alone and awake (and sober) at three a.m.?

I recognize that this entry has been a bit all over the place. I think the literary term is “stream of consciousness” (that makes it sound better anyway). So…how did I begin this oh-so-cheery post in the first place? Oh yes, I think I was telling you that I like living in South Africa. And I do. But like I said, it’s complicated…

(I bet none of you ask me that question again!)