… a house of cards.

 As I sat in the playground between the shadows and candlelight, the glasses of wine from a certain Medoc region complemented the take-out burgers, flamed grilled of course, that were the sum of available choices for dinner in a blacked-out suburb. The comfortable heat of the dying sun gave way to a cool, crisp evening carried on a soft breeze. It brought with it the realisation that the seasons have changed once again and that time had somehow become an issue for me again.


While the man beside me could never be more than just a friend, his body has come to serve a longing hearts’ hunger, and the abyss that has formed in-between is a mutual balance of conflicting desires and dreams. We both know that it isn’t real – and because of this realisation – what we have has become comfortable. Like my recent foray into the world of publishing, I find myself all too suddenly at a cross roads with a choice between that what I want and that which I need to be made.


With an independent income severely reduced from a lifestyle of option to one of necessary survival, the intrinsic remoulding of my life’s view point has meant practical solutions are needed to get me through the next few crucial months. And so, for the first time in my adult life I have had to find a job to pay the rent. Well not in a 9-to-5 kind of environment anyway. So I sat down and decided that where I want to be and what I need to do to get there leave me with one choice: entrepreneurship.


And so, with a wide net of inferred friendships where the degrees of separation are often not 6 but 1, in under a month I was presented with two very definite and viable offers by publishing companies that met what I was comfortable doing in a context I was open to working with. I took the first because it seemed like a good offer and included my two passions in life: polo and sailing as work subjects. Not much of an effort being paid to do something you love and already know is it?


But with a sense of growing unease these past few weeks I have doubted my decision. I think it’s pretty much agreed that ‘open minded: good. Judgemental: bad.’ But are we being too quick to judge judgement? Perhaps judgement is not so much a snap decision as an early warning detection device. If it is instantly clear that a person, a place or even a profession is not for you, is it better to ignore your better judgement and read between the lines or, should you judge a book by its cover?


I think the thing that I fear most is what my two strongest supporters over these past few months will think. Having never been a quitter this early on, a distorted sense of loyalty persists that I make one last Herculean effort to save the relationship and business arrangement before moving on. In an ordinary world this would be an admirable trait, in a Spaniel or a whore, but when you are trying to make you own way in an unforgiving society where success is measured by different rules, reality asserts itself and the right decision needs to be made. Quickly!


With many of my closest friends tied up in their own 30-something tribulations between closing multi-million Rand BEE deals, managing stratospheric head-hunting assignments, jet-setting around Europe, and alcoholic binging chased by one night stands, I find it difficult to solicit their advice. Not because they won’t give it willingly – but because I know that it would just be the blind leading the blind. And so, following sage advice, I’m going to sleep on it. And do my sums carefully this time.


After all, my mistakes are mine to make. So is enjoying the success of those decisions when it comes. In the meantime I’m having fun with a recently discovered box of books that I thought had been lost along with a few DVD’s, and a vintage Henry Mancini album I can’t listen to – a sexual souvenir of a jazz player I once dated – but was never able to get rid of because it reminded me too much of who I wanted to be rather than who I ended up as.


Like the sense of restlessness that has me sleeping until noon on the weekends, drinking endless cups of ear grey tea, and knowing that a certain someone like you is looking for a less certain someone like me. Even if it is only because I have great taste in music.


One Response to “… a house of cards.”

  1. On a clear day you can see forever, you know.

    I suggest never settling for grey (unless it’s tea), and always keeping rhetoric alive. Perhaps it’s in the asking… since the answer doesn’t always matter anyway.

    Reading you is becoming a Sunday night ritual. Thanks, x

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