All these years I could not find my own voice. I popped out on the other side frightened, lying about my age already, and investigating all my grey hair. It is difficult to believe that years can pass so quickly, and they are never given back.
I thought it had to do with my grandfather's passing. He died on a blustery day in November when I was 25 years old. He was a rare and dynamically kind, compassionate and intelligent man with a penchant for bringing out the best in others. We did not understand he kept our family together until he was gone. And he was gone suddenly. I never had the chance to say good-bye. None of us did. It is difficult to resolve how a thing like that can happen, one unassuming day a grounding force and a source of unconditional love can leave this world forever. I've tried all those tricks, remembering him, and trying to honour him with how I live today. It isn't enough. It has been a few years now. I still long to hear his soft, growling voice, or see the little freckles that used to cover his hands. I can't even come close to describing the loss.
When I learned of his death, I was immediately afraid he lived quietly disappointed in me. At the time, I remember thinking that was such an ego-centric first reaction. But there it is. I worried I had not lived up to his expectations. I had little to no accomplishments at the time of his death, aside from frequently going off to hike deep into the back-country, to camp and explore on my own. Or I would travel around like a privileged vagrant, driving around on the prowl. Neither of us knew that his presence on this Earth gave me the courage to wander and chase down a sense of freedom.
Despite being unable to answer the questions, "Who am I?' 'What am I doing here?' 'What's going on?' I now feel more certain he would be proud of me, then and now. He was a man of science, a BC Wildlife researcher and a professor at various universities as he held a Ph.D in Zoology. Some species of animal exist in abundance rather than scarcity as a result of his fine work. He would be pleased to know I am conducting first level medical evidence and presenting my projects at various conferences. He would especially enjoy that the research is independent and unaffiliated with the pharmaceutical industry. He would have been thrilled when I won a scholarship to meet a Nobel-laureate at a small, invite-only gathering in Boston.
He wouldn't have said much about it, had he lived, but I think he would be secretly relieved that I am embarking on my own again. Or perhaps it is simply the conviction of my own relief. He never lived to see me go through my days with such a sense of fear and stress and insecurity. Whoever I have become is not the person I wish to remain. The hardest decision was in the act of leaving. But what drove me to do it was the understanding that there are no guarantees after this one life. I knew that I had lost myself along the way. And I understood that things fall apart. For years I had been trying to pick up the pieces of a relationship when I myself was broken.
Just because I feel relief does not always spare me from feeling embittered, or lonely, or even from spats of self-loathing. It is slippery when you first begin to let go of your own voice, and before you know it, years have passed. You wake up one morning and realize it isn't easy to live each day without a sense of like or love for yourself, and without any understanding of your own identity or worth. It is not enough to dress the part of success. I want to be whole again. I want to easily create joy for myself and have a sense of peace and fulfillment. I wish to be surrounded by true friends, who are good for me and I for them. It is not too much to ask.
A new path is being formed. It is good, important and necessary, despite all that remains unknown.
Onwards!
I thought it had to do with my grandfather's passing. He died on a blustery day in November when I was 25 years old. He was a rare and dynamically kind, compassionate and intelligent man with a penchant for bringing out the best in others. We did not understand he kept our family together until he was gone. And he was gone suddenly. I never had the chance to say good-bye. None of us did. It is difficult to resolve how a thing like that can happen, one unassuming day a grounding force and a source of unconditional love can leave this world forever. I've tried all those tricks, remembering him, and trying to honour him with how I live today. It isn't enough. It has been a few years now. I still long to hear his soft, growling voice, or see the little freckles that used to cover his hands. I can't even come close to describing the loss.
When I learned of his death, I was immediately afraid he lived quietly disappointed in me. At the time, I remember thinking that was such an ego-centric first reaction. But there it is. I worried I had not lived up to his expectations. I had little to no accomplishments at the time of his death, aside from frequently going off to hike deep into the back-country, to camp and explore on my own. Or I would travel around like a privileged vagrant, driving around on the prowl. Neither of us knew that his presence on this Earth gave me the courage to wander and chase down a sense of freedom.
Despite being unable to answer the questions, "Who am I?' 'What am I doing here?' 'What's going on?' I now feel more certain he would be proud of me, then and now. He was a man of science, a BC Wildlife researcher and a professor at various universities as he held a Ph.D in Zoology. Some species of animal exist in abundance rather than scarcity as a result of his fine work. He would be pleased to know I am conducting first level medical evidence and presenting my projects at various conferences. He would especially enjoy that the research is independent and unaffiliated with the pharmaceutical industry. He would have been thrilled when I won a scholarship to meet a Nobel-laureate at a small, invite-only gathering in Boston.
He wouldn't have said much about it, had he lived, but I think he would be secretly relieved that I am embarking on my own again. Or perhaps it is simply the conviction of my own relief. He never lived to see me go through my days with such a sense of fear and stress and insecurity. Whoever I have become is not the person I wish to remain. The hardest decision was in the act of leaving. But what drove me to do it was the understanding that there are no guarantees after this one life. I knew that I had lost myself along the way. And I understood that things fall apart. For years I had been trying to pick up the pieces of a relationship when I myself was broken.
Just because I feel relief does not always spare me from feeling embittered, or lonely, or even from spats of self-loathing. It is slippery when you first begin to let go of your own voice, and before you know it, years have passed. You wake up one morning and realize it isn't easy to live each day without a sense of like or love for yourself, and without any understanding of your own identity or worth. It is not enough to dress the part of success. I want to be whole again. I want to easily create joy for myself and have a sense of peace and fulfillment. I wish to be surrounded by true friends, who are good for me and I for them. It is not too much to ask.
A new path is being formed. It is good, important and necessary, despite all that remains unknown.
Onwards!
