I began reflecting on 2014, and looking forward to 2015, back in September.
I know that might sound odd, but at the end of September I turned 29 (on the 29th in fact) and entered my 30th year on this here planet. I made this event significant to myself, and my life, and called it My New Year - and celebrated it like you would a New Year's Eve, or New Year's Day, holiday.
Until September, the year 2014 had not been particularly kind to me.
When I look back now, I am able to see everything objectively and it now seems very clear and very obvious as to why the first nine months of the year weren't such a happy time. I don't believe in dwelling on the individual events, so I won't go into detail here. I do however, truly believe - now - that it is because I had recently moved to a huge city - with an even larger population - without any real intention, focus or direction.
Before I knew what had hit me, I was caught up in the riptide that is London Life and was letting it sweep me out to sea. I didn't fight the current, but I didn't swim with it either - I simply drifted along, bobbing in the ocean, letting the waves crash over me and all sorts of ocean dwellers nip at my feet and pull me this way and that. Before too long, I was a fair distance from the shoreline. I could still see it - and on it, I could see my friends and family and the life I so badly craved - but it was getting further and further away and the water in which I drifted was getting darker, deeper and more foreboding. People on the beach were trying to throw me a life raft, but they were unsure how to go about it.
Looking back, I am also able to pinpoint two very, very low points and two very, very high points - the former being pre-September and the latter being post-September.
Low Point Number One was a Saturday morning out at breakfast with my sister. It started out as our get together's always do - full of laughs and jokes and stories - but I could feel anxiety ticking away inside me like a time bomb and by the time my meal was set down in front of me I was only able to eat two small bites of it, washed down with a strong espresso (here's a trick for young players - do NOT mix anxiety and caffeine).
We'd planned to have a whole afternoon out together but as soon as breakfast was finished, I near bolted for the closest train station and headed home where I snuck up to my room without any of my flatmates seeing me and hopped into bed. I stayed there until late Sunday night without anyone knowing I was even home. I just lay in the dark, consumed by the darkness and my own anxious thoughts. The chatter in my mind was unbearably loud: so much for the old adage, "I can't hear myself think"- ALL I could hear were my own thoughts, chasing each other around and around my head.
Low Point Number Two came a couple of months later. By this stage, I had become so accustomed to the constant anxious chatter in my head that the thought of it ever not being there was unfathomable, and I was starting to think I was going completely mad. By now, I could pinpoint the exact moment the anxiety would kick in - approximately two minutes after first opening my eyes in the morning, my head throbbing from lack of sleep. My anxiety had become my closest companion. If I tried to shoo it away, it would retaliate by returning even more forcefully, laughing in my face.
On this particular day though, the chatter was deafening. I was sitting at work but all I could manage was to stare at my computer screen, blankly. I couldn't smile, eat, move or laugh - and thank God no one tried to talk to me. At lunch, I dragged myself out into Spitalfield's Square and didn't even bother looking for a seat - I just slumped against a curb, amidst the businessmen and women enjoying their Pret and Itsu lunches. I can see myself there now, as if I am looking down on someone who I barely recognize. I was wearing a pretty blue and white polka dot dress with a denim jacket draped around my shoulders, and my favourite high heels. I slumped there on the concrete and tears poured down my cheeks and onto my lap. I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me. Above all, I wanted silence.
This needed to stop.
A few weeks after Low Point Number Two, at the start of September, a few things started to shift. Basically, something which had become a significant part of my life, ended. (And yes, it was a relationship ... of sorts). As sad as this was at the time, I decided that it marked the perfect time to start afresh. To kick this anxiety, this constant stream of conversation in my own mind, to the curb (perhaps even the curb on which I had slumped pathetically a few weeks before).
Sometimes I find it hard to believe that "everything happens for a reason", but one thing I steadfastly believe in is that there is a reason for the timing of everything.
The same week that the above incident took place, five of my best (most supportive, amazing, beautiful, kind, caring) friends arrived in London, all the way from New Zealand, to spend five weeks travelling around Europe. What's more, I was due to fly to Croatia to meet them for a week of sailing in the sun - that very week. I also received a bunch of emails and messages from people I hadn't been in touch with for many, many months. It was as if they knew I was in a bad space and were reaching out, reminding me they were there - but none of them had any idea what I was/had been going through. I boarded my flight to Croatia that Friday evening - shaking, scared and sad, tears still rolling down my cheeks regardless of who could see them.
I was about to turn off my phone before boarding the plane, when an email notification popped up. I checked it in case it was from my friends in Croatia informing me about where they would pick me up from. It wasn't. It was an email from a blog I had subscribed to but never actually read. It was a post titled, 'Why We All Need Journeys'. Among other interesting quotes and pieces of information, one paragraph caught my eye:
The lesson of all journeys is this: Life is not stable, and we’re not in control. All we can do is enjoy the ride.
I decided then and there to leave my anxiety behind at the gate. I was boarding that plane to Croatia and the non-stop chatter in my mind would not be coming with me. I would allow myself to grieve the end of my semi-relationship, I would allow myself to go through those motions, but I wouldn't allow Miss Anxiety to accompany me on that flight. For one thing, Croatia Airlines charged a packet for just one seat, let alone two.
Somewhere between London and Croatia I decided that I would spend September getting stronger and healthier - mentally and physically - and then my birthday, September 29, 2014, would be My New Year.
Thankfully, Croatia with eight of the best human beings on the planet (I know I initially said five best friends, but we picked up some absolutely amazing extras en route) on a yacht is the perfect place to rest, relax, sleep, rejuvenate, recover - and LAUGH.
My anxiety had stayed behind at Gatwick airport, furiously pacing around the terminal, shaking its fist as my plane raced down the tarmac and headed skyward with me pulling the fingers out the tiny window.
By the end of the week I felt like a new person my old self. I was telling stories, making jokes, dancing, laughing and even singing. My mind was less foggy. There were only whispers where once there'd been yelling. I was starting to see things with the incredible crystal-clear clarity that I'd once enjoyed, not so long ago. It was like upgrading to a High Definition TV after a stint of watching only vintage black and white. Things were beautiful again. People were lovable. Jokes were funny. Food was SO TASTY (especially chips). Sure, I still had moments of sadness and a few tears, but for the most part I was living again, unburdened of the anxiety I'd come to know so well.
Needless to say High Point Number One and High Point Number Two occurred while I was in Croatia, towards the end of our trip, having rested and recovered to almost 100%.
High Point Number One happened on our last evening on the boat. Aliesha and I sat on the bow as we motor-sailed to a quiet bay for dinner. We chatted minimally, neither of us needing to say much, happy in each other's company. The ocean had that dark, inky appearance that only a deep ocean in the evening light can sustain. The boat sliced through the water, a small rolling swell lapping at its sides. A gathering of sea birds bobbed on the surface and everything was beautiful. I knew I was going to be just fine from then on. Better than fine.
High Point Number Two occurred on our last morning on the Princesza. A melancholic feeling was present on board - our perfect seven days was coming to a close. After breakfast we all jumped off the stern one last time. It was early and the crystal clear reflections that Croatia is so well known for, were yet to appear. We joked about big fish and sharks coming up from the depths of the ocean; took an underwater group selfie; and then as we headed out of the bay our skipper asked if anyone wanted to "skurf" behind the back of the boat, on the stand-up paddle-board. Without hesitation I was standing on the board, holding onto a long thick rope, waiting for the boat to pick up speed and pull me along behind it. After a failed first attempt I was up on my second go, clinging to the rope and steadying my legs. I have surfed and snowboarded since my early teens so this was nothing entirely new, but within a matter of moments I was laughing like a mad woman. I couldn't stop laughing but didn't want to let go either! For the first time in a long, long time, I felt truly ALIVE.
As sad as it was to leave Croatia, and above all - my friends, old and new - I was excited to return to London as my pre-anxiety self, only better. Kerrie Version 2.0.
From that week onwards, life has only gotten better and better. I finally understand why so many people love London. I love London. My friends are my soul mates. My flatmates are my family. My sister and I spend hilarious days and nights together, without her having to counsel me through the chatter in my head. I stop and smell the roses, I enjoy all sorts of delicious food, I talk to strangers and make new friends. Sometimes sunsets blend into sunrises - but it's no longer because I am lying awake listening to the noise in my head, it's because I am surrounded by the best people, living a life that I feel blessed to live. I give and thank and appreciate. I love and support and care. I laugh and dance and tell tales (no singing since Croatia - it's not good for anyone). I juggle on one foot at parties and practice the Dirty Dancing lift with everyone from my best friends to my CEO.
Best of all, when we entered 2015 a few weeks ago, I wasn't drifting anymore. I'd been thrown the life raft and managed to swim the couple of metres required to reach it. I'd surfed in on it on the waves that had once crashed around me and stepped onto the shore, on relatively steady feet, where my friends and family had been waiting for me. Then I bundled up that horrible old anxiety, put it in the raft and pushed it back out to sea.
Now I am back on the tide of a New Year, only this time I'm not bobbing in the current, being washed out to sea. Instead, I am sailing my own sleek little catamaran. Occasionally, we hit stormy waters or a little squall, so I trim the sails, hold on tight and ride it out. When you learn to just go with it, big waves can actually be kind of fun - it's all about the way you approach them, and getting the right angle.
Just like the ocean, life cannot be controlled; but in the same way a sail boat is already equipped to weather any storm it may come across on the ocean, we too already possess everything we need to make it through the more difficult times. It took me nine months to realise this, but I think it was probably something I knew, deep down, all along.
Now that the storm has passed, I am able to look back and reflect on it and see it not for the madness it entailed but the beauty that came from it. There are no rainbows without rain, no light without a little darkness.
So here's to a (New) New Year.
I already know this one is a good one. I've never been more sure about anything.
