#12 - Three Months Late and Missing a Friend
bear with me; this is a little longer than usual...
Dear Friend,
This letter is three months late. Not old, because I could never bring myself to accurately describe what was wrong; I still can’t. A lot has happened in my silence, in my absence. Splotches of good, streaks of bad, all in a vast nothingness. It's hard to describe from within the nothingness. The good seems like a harbinger of gloom. The bad period slithers slowly, leaving behind its indelible impression. Hope tells you it won't be long now, but each day is worse. You are in the climax of a horror movie, but in this movie you are no hero. The monster wins and the nothingness overwhelms you. Forgive me, I got carried away. This letter is three months late. Not old, because I feel like maybe it's time to start again now.
I struggle with this quote, with rejecting it. I am not sure how many more iterations of me there are. I am not sure if I have the strength to do it each time, if I am confident to do it each time. With each iteration, I lose parts of me that I don’t want to lose, hauling nostalgia like some bittersweet Santa Claus. I feel, like Haruki Murakami concludes in the Running Novelist, still young enough, though no longer a young man. I guess that means I am at a crossroad. (I struggled with convincing myself there, lol). Everything is changing; denying this will not stop it occurring. Either change or get left behind. I wonder about this new iteration, how long it would take before I am comfortable in it. I worry about this new iteration, I fear that it might alter my friendships and leave me more alone. Either change or get left behind, sounds like a lot of work. I hate this fearful laziness.
I am not an ambitious person. My life goal is to isolate in a small town, or thirty minutes away from a city, do poor late night stand up comedy at small clubs, and offer my space as a retreat to close friends, no questions asked. I can limit my engagements with crowds, make dark humor with random strangers while sipping a beer, and still spend time with the people I love - when they need it most. The roadmap, the details about how I get there, my job, my income have never seemed like the priorities. Building safe strong friendships has always been the priority; before time built walls around me, around people, and we became to set in our ways to try something new, to think a little different, be a little kinder. It is becoming clearer that I might be making no headway, anywhere in that goal.
I can admit that maybe I am struggling at life because I am approaching it wrongly. Firstly, look at my goal, it is not even a SMART goal. Not specific, not measurable, and definitely not timebound - attainable and realistic remain debatable. Project management 101 and I am already doomed to fail. Secondly, how did I look at that goal and decide that the most important milestone is the one to start with, where are my effort estimations skills? Thirdly, and this is not exhaustive, how did I not consider having a roadmap? Who sets out on any journey having no idea at all how to get there?
Have been I doing it all wrong? Did I divide the goal into deliverables, tasks, milestones? Was I aware of dependencies? The costs of my inadequacies, the failings of others, the volatile environment of friendship? Did I even have a stakeholder management plan? What was my change management plan when things were not going how I foresaw? I am using more project management lingo, bear with me. Damn, I need a job and soon, lol. This is not an argument in favor of planning each step of your life. I refuse that, while having tremendous respect for those who do. I can just see now how they might have a point. I must have been looking at it all wrong. I still hate the pressure of having life (personal) plans.
Despite querying my focus on friendships, I know that I am lying if I tell myself that I will stop yearning for them while being wary of being seen. I tell myself the lie, again and again, isolate to convince myself. Moments like this, when I can see my thoughts, I see the lie for what it is: fear. I am afraid of the shame of valuing these relationships; afraid of being exposed, forced to remember to face the loneliness from an angle I assumed covered. I can only hope that my new iteration is stronger than I am now.
I always knew M was going to move to Lagos. I was super excited when we got the news. It was the goal, his goal; I hate Lagos. I figured that I would deal with the distance when it got there. We would hang out for a week before he had to leave and I will be fine. Life gave me a couple of hours and an early morning errand. I came back from my trip, this month, and M is not here. Everything is changing. Shifts in close friendships that sting, friends fleeing this failed state. And M is not here.
I miss M. A lot more than he knows, a lot more than he might be comfortable with. LMAO. It is a lot more than I thought, and perhaps as a strong black male, a lot more than I was comfortably admitting. M randomly says: this space is too safe. Distance might be a bastard, lmao inappropriate dark humor joke about my life, but this is one friendship I am wholly invested in. I hope Lagos is kind to you, M. You deserve the absolute best out of that shitty mega city. Big Brain! Cheers.
I will try again. One agonizingly slow step after the other. Quoting myself - lol, did not think I was here yet - in this essay, Feeling Your Way Home, home is a promise made to a friend to do better, be better. So if you see a random guy staring into space, or reading manga, occasionally smiling and muttering to himself, I am trying. Say hi, or not, don’t overthink it. Lol. It’s one small step to going out more, and actually doing life more. It is also a promise to A, C, T, O and M. Yes, I hate that that did not spell actor as well.
I have started taking walks. As someone rightly diagnosed with an allergy to physical exercise, this is a huge step. I find that it comes with no pressure compared to the other recommended forms of physical activity for those with my condition. When my breath is heavy and my legs sore, I typically have two options: get to a bike and go home, or find the shortest route home and walk back. There is no time limit or goal that I should be working towards (10,000 steps? what is that?); I am just walking. Some days I will come back with snacks; other days, it might be alcohol; and yet on other days, it might be nothing, just sweat and sore legs. I wonder if this is how I become the Walking/Wandering Epistler. You know, because… like… I am too lazy for running and committing to long forms of prose? I am funny.
Been decluttering my space over the last couple of days. It is a lot of work, which I guess is to be expected when I am sifting through old clothes, old pictures and old notes. It is a welcome distraction, getting lost in memories, thinking of anything other than the now or the future; it is also weirdly comforting, everything is changing and I have also changed. It means I can change again, am changing again. I should go easy on myself. I should also not be afraid, cringed because shame, to ask for help. I might need help cleaning out the room after sorting everything out, and arranging stuff. I am also getting old.
The urge to write you became stronger once I saw that it had been three months. That’s a quarter of the year. A lot can happen in three months. And a lot has probably happened, I know. How are you doing? How are you really doing? How are you feeling? Friendly reminder, for the most part, we all have no idea what we are really doing. So take a deep breath, and at your own time, when you’re ready, take that next step. It will most likely be hard, but you will be fine.
This letter is three months late. In that time, M hit a rather huge milestone; I am rounding off my certification course; I adventured with Thorfinn in the Vinland Saga manga; I applied for jobs more than I got rejected, doesn’t matter that none have gotten back to me; and I took a walk. I also decluttered my room and got rid of old stuff but yeah, staying modest here. I am reminding myself that it does not end at being aware. I need to pause, take a deep breath, and reframe. Existence is pain; everything is changing; M is not here, but I will be fine.
P.S: Nigeria has really done its worst. Greeted my neighbor while they were killing ram and I am just surprised that they haven’t finished killing it by now. Maybe it will come in today, who knows eh? Patience.
Enjoy the holidays, friend. Stay safe.
Signing off with Do You Feel Loved by Bombay Bicycle Club:
“throw your arms around my neck
and hold me tight
all the cracks around your head
will fill with light”
Sine Cera
Osondu