October,
my birth month, brings reflection. Entering an era of realising how much I don’t
need. Responsibilities I’ve outgrown, inheritances I can no longer carry,
impressions of a lengthy past that either stands accusing or seems exactly like
a dream. Not a dream, but a story.
I rescue an
English teacher’s words: “We’re not tragic heroes of literature; we are
comedians.” We’re not King Lear, at best, we can aspire to Don Quixote. I find
this more comforting with each passing year. To be conscious of failing is
actually good for you. To have laid one brick in the path that leads to
perdition – but only one brick. To weigh it up: If this happened in the past, something
else must happen in the future, if you want balance.
To view
the occasions: enigmatic events, tainted times, instant inspirations — casting
light across the shadows — or fated flickers changing lives forever. I’ve
outlived my detractors and many of my friends; I’ve observed history repeat
itself in cyclical patterns. But hopefully, I’ve learned there’s always more to
learn, everything fascinating. Occasions arise to live unending
transformations, to stop performing the role of someone else. God willing: all
occasions dwelling beneath God’s will.
