It had not been easy to leave the small sleepy town and move back to the city. Five years ago, I had run away from it all. My friends were caught by surprise. They had thought that I was doing just fine. I had just secured a new job, managing a small non-profit organization that helped to rehabilitate street children. I was thinking about taking out a mortgage on a large, roomy flat in a not-so-shabby part of town. I had finally managed to enroll back in school to take up a correspondence course in graphic design, and my first short story was coming out in a month. Clearly, my dreams were coming true, one by one. I don’t blame my friends for thinking that I was okay, but the truth was much more dismal.
Failure followed me like a plague. It took every beautiful shape that my dreams tried to take and distorted it to an ugly, contorted figure. It removed the color from my sunny mornings and threw a coat of grey, depressing paint on the entire day. It was a tight noose around my neck that prevented me from taking the fresh breath of success that I was entitled to. So for every clear success that my dear friends saw, I saw a shadow of looming failure, hovering, waiting to engulf and destroy.
It was on one grey, rainy morning that I walked into the office and resigned my position, with immediate effect. I was going to take a week off and prepare myself for my new job. I knew that working with street children required energy, enthusiasm and empathy. My boss, a dear, old lady who could only be described as the ‘universal grandmother’ had many compliments for me.
“I just don’t know what we’ll do without you! I must tell you that since you came here, you’ve been the rock of this organization, and of course you deserve all your good fortune, but I wish I could have kept you for myself.” Now, I know that she was telling the truth, dear old Sophie was. And I also know how rare it is to get as much praise as I did that day from a boss that just got ditched without so much as a notice period, so I should have been happy. Instead, I felt a tight knot of uncertainty start forming at the pit of my stomach. I asked myself, “Is she really happy for me or happy that I got rid of myself and spared her the unpleasant job?”
The tight knot was gnawing away at me and by the end of the week; it had manifested itself as a nervous, uncontrollable shakiness that I couldn’t shake off. I didn’t take up the new job. I had never been good with children anyway. Who was I kidding? Children hated my guts. How would those wild street urchins take to my disorganized, chaotic uncoordinated ways? No, I couldn’t do it.
And so the downward spiral had begun. Without the job, I had to put a halt on the mortgage application. My savings would have to tide me over as I took a ‘sabbatical’ and thought things through. I thought that it may be a better idea to join a full-time course instead of the part-time graphic design one that I had already been accepted to.
The situation was untenable. I grew to hate the person I had become. Fear and failure were winning and I was letting them. So one day, I just packed up my mini-van and left town. Away from everything I knew. Goodbye to everyone I knew. It wasn’t a fresh start I was after. I just wanted to find a place where I didn’t look in the mirror and see my reflection against the backdrop of what I should be and what I should become. I wanted not to have to weigh and measure myself.
Small towns are easy; it only took me two days to find a cottage. A pretty, brick and wood cottage nestled between a church and a school. It was meant for the pastor, who had preferred to live in town. I lugged the few pieces of luggage into the cottage: bags, cartons, baskets, books. By the time I started unpacking, the sun was setting. I opened the smallest carton, and there tucked away in one corner was a small, rusting trophy. I pulled it out and rubbed it against my skirt, then held it to the light to get a better look. The writings were almost faded now, but the picture of a volleyball player striking the ball across the net was still clearly visible. I let my forefinger trace the outline of the player, I heard the cheers drowning out all thought, and a feeling of elation engulfed me as I remembered the only time I had ever felt like a winner.
