Day 1

I believe that the greatest truths of the universe don't lie outside, in the study of the stars and the planets. They lie deep within us, in the magnificence of our heart, mind, and soul. Until we understand what is within, we can't understand what is without.

Anita Moorjani

The morning began with sirens. Lots of them. Different ones, competing, calling against and to each other, in impatient, anxious discord. They raced away up the highway. A pause. And then the single siren of a belated vehicle racing after its companions.

It is April Fool’s Day and for somebody (or by the sounds of it, many somebodies) the day began with great pain and drama before ever the sun had risen. I went to the beach this morning. I went early, while it was still mostly dark, though the light came quickly. It is unlike last weekend, when I was surprised by the lingering, velvety silence of darkness, as though the world might never fully awake and I would be able to remain, timeless, in that strange question mark for ever. Today there was little poetry and much prose. The world apparently wanted to get on with this business of living.

And so I heard the sirens. I set out, listening for the beauty of bird calls and the stillness of early morning air. I went seeking the reassurance of a greater Now than mine. But instead there were sirens. And a quickly receding darkness on soft sands that made for challenging walking because the tide was in. But while for some this day of trickery began in deadly earnest, for others there was a whole new perspective on life. As I returned from the world of seagulls, paddle boarders, dog walkers and early morning meditators, I watched a hot air balloon slowly drifting across the sky ahead of me – so low to the horizon! It seemed wonderfully close, and yet it was not because it passed by in stately, drifting silence. I could not hear the hot fury of its dragon breath and so I had the illusion of effortless grace. What world did its passengers see from up there? I have never been up in a hot air balloon. It feels like some kind of mythical creature to me, a way to know the world through a completely different lens. Did this morning’s inhabitants of the balloon’s interior see the racing emergency vehicles and the source of the drama to which they raced, or was their attention fully on the surprising dominance of water through this coastal region, threading through everything and creating islands of our suburbs? It’s a funny thing. You don’t see the water from ground level. You think that, once you leave the ocean, apart from the occasional canal or river, there is only land. It is only when you ascend a tall building and look down that you realise that you have been deluded by your senses and by the clever network of public roads and private property. It seems sad that water here is mostly guarded as private, belonging to the homes lining the shores of every canal and waterway. Without paying for a cruise there is little public access to this other reality. And so the world we see is distorted. But not for the passengers of the morning dragon, passing overhead with the gods.

But this isn’t the way it’s supposed to begin at all! You know when you plan something, some special, secret thing, and it’s just a dream in your heart for the loooongest time, you find yourself imagining just exactly how you will begin? It plays over and over in your mind, becoming almost as real as if it had truly begun. You can see it all so perfectly. You can see and feel and hear everything around you; you can walk around in the fantasy world you have created. And you know just exactly how you will begin. You can see your hands, hovering over the keyboard, entering that very first world. It is already real.

Except that it isn’t. Because, in the end, I didn’t use that word! The moment finally came – the dream became reality – and I wrote something different. Because it was late before I could sleep last night and early when I woke. Because my heart is racing and before I even sit down I am already yawning from lack of sleep. Because the person you are when you plan something is not the same as the person who actually begins. And perhaps that is a good thing. It means that something has already changed. We may feel trapped and caught, unable to escape the cycle of the stories we tell about ourselves, but it isn’t true. We have changed. I have changed. And so I never wrote that very first word.

Instead I procrastinated. I’m scared to actually write it! This is the dream, the fantasy – it doesn’t actually happen in real life! I don’t really, truly do this! If I write it, I make it real. I admit that I did this thing. That I have started this thing. It seemed so enviable, so desirable, when I first envisioned it, but now I feel like some strange kind of monster. By making the dream real I have made a monster of myself. If I can do this thing and become who I am not, then where are the boundaries? What is real? Anything is possible and I am anyone. There are no rules any longer, no safety or predictability. I am like the morning dragon, seeing the world from an angle we are not normally allowed to see.

When I think about it, I have to ask myself what I can possibly be afraid of in writing words. After all, I already know what I’ve done. It’s not as though I can keep it a secret from myself! But, have you noticed? I’ve already written “you” into this long procrastination. Who on earth are “you” and why do I believe you are there? It’s not like anyone is ever likely to read this. Probably no one ever will. But I want you to be there. I want to tell you about what happens. I want someone to know, in case it matters. And so I have written you into existence. And it makes a difference, somehow, knowing you are there. You are such a friendly, interested presence. You are not only compassionate, but curious and engaged. You listen with real intensity, eager to know what I will decide or do. I think I have decided that you are a representative of the Universe. In the great unfolding of Life it feels like we are its agents. Life lives through us. It comes to know itself and the nature of its own existence through our breath, our sensations, our choices. Life is the trees, with roots diving deep into the Earth; it is the air, flowing through everything, seeing all; the water, encompassing everything. It is the people and animals. It is at once both incredibly ancient and meltingly new, taking its very first breath, seeing its very first sunrise. It is the sunrise, moving along its prescribed course, endlessly following the same pattern and, through its steady progression, bringing new light and new possibility to everything in its path. Strange that the unchanging, endlessly repeating pattern is what makes it possible for us to see everything as new and fresh, as though we can be born again in every moment.

And you, I have decided, are the representative of the Universe in this moment. You have been chosen to witness this one tiny drama that is no drama at all in the great scheme of Life, which sees so much that is more important than me. You may not know that you have been chosen, nor that you represent something so mighty as the Universe. But you do. Between us, the Universe knows itself just that little bit more.

And, have you noticed? I’m still procrastinating! Have I bored you yet? Have you lost interest in whatever it is I might think I’ve done? And have you worked out that this oh-so-huge event is really nothing at all? Because it isn’t, not really. Only it is to me. Please remember that when you feel totally underwhelmed by what follows. Try to understand that for me this is overwhelming.

And that first word I have so long imagined?

O – M – G.

OMG! OMG! OMG!

I’ve really truly done it! How can I possibly have done it? But I have. My heart is racing and doesn’t want to let my mind move anywhere near it. I have cheated, lied, taken advantage of someone’s good will. I have become a non-productive worker. A contributor to absenteeism. But then, I was already contributing to presenteeism, so I might as well gain something from the deal.

I could not bear to go to work any longer. Not like that. Not with the relentless every-day horror of it. Something so small and so easy – it just became bigger and bigger and bigger until I thought I would die from it. I am ashamed that it is true. Most people have so many more commitments, so many more worries, than I do. They have families, children, ageing parents, full time jobs, study, chauffeur duties. Fitness routines and organic cooking. They leave work only to do battle, not only with the traffic of the commute but with the next item on their unending list. I don’t have any of that. Why did it feel like it was killing me? Or worse, like I was killing myself by allowing myself to go each day? It was like watching myself slowly fade and disappear, and I was my own executioner, willingly participating in my own deminishment. How much I want to blame work, blame society, blame the system, blame the “way it is”. But I chose this. I’m not sure what other choices I could have made. And maybe that’s the whole point of now. It’s hard to make another choice if you don’t know what the reality of having options might even look like. I need to be like the morning dragon and see the world from a new height, discovering what cannot be found by allowing myself to follow the same path every day.

And so I found a “tame” doctor – one I could manipulate. Yes, I actually did that. You know in school, when you come up with those wonderful excuses and strategies for missing school? Or for disappearing from school during the middle of the day without your parents finding out? I never did that. I'm embarrassed to say that it never even occurred to me. Partly it was because I was too much of a “goody-goody”; I tried very hard not to do anything we weren’t “supposed” to do. I wanted very much to be good. But mostly? My imagination just didn’t stretch that far. I never even thought of it as an option. I didn’t just want to be good; I didn’t know there was an alternative. Not really. And so, when I heard the stories of what others did when they were children, I am amazed at their ingenuity and their ability to know themselves and make their own decisions so early!

So, you have to understand, it’s not like I’ve had a whole lot of practice at gaining my own way through underhand means. I’ve never done anything like this before. But kind of by accident I discovered that my new doctor was ultra-sympathetic and very willing to let me be the expert on my own needs. That was kind of a weird feeling. And then it occurred to me that medical certificates are wonderful things these days. They no longer specify the reason for absence as they did when I was a child. It’s kind of like divorce: once you had to have a “reason” – you had to declare someone at fault and put a label on their bad behaviour. Now, apparently, there’s “no-fault” divorce. It just is. The same is true of medical certificates. Once upon a time, not so long ago, I’m told, if you wanted to take time off without a physical illness, you had to take “stress leave”. You had to effectively declare yourself as mentally incapable of dealing with work. I can imagine the stigma of it followed people around for ever after. Any kind of issue with attendance could, of course, affect your career, but “stress” by far outweighed any physical illness. From an employer’s perspective, “stress” could strike at any time, unpredictably, and could chew through unnumbered days of lost productivity. An employer couldn’t trust an employee who was prepared to pull the stress card.

But now? Now the medical certificates oh-so-kindly say that someone is “suffering from a medical condition”. No explanation. “None of your business,” it effectively declares. “I, as a doctor, have made a pronouncement, and that is all you need to know about it.”

And so I didn’t actually have to be that inventive in the end. Which is lucky, because otherwise, none of this would ever have happened. I just had to work on my doctor, scheduling appointments, first occasionally, and then with increasing frequency, complaining of unspecified tiredness, exhaustion, panic, racing heart, sleeplessness, and so on. In response to her kind questions, I hinted at problems at work. I started to talk about how I’d got myself caught up in a vicious cycle and how much it would help if only I could get away for a little while and gain some perspective on the situation. And in the end, of course, I didn’t even have to ask for the leave. She suggested it. And I found myself with exactly what I wanted in the first place: a whole month of “perspective”.

The hardest part was lying to her. The funny part is, it wasn’t lying; not really. It’s not like I didn’t need the perspective. And I did have sleeplessness, exhaustion, depression and anxiety. But of course, nothing bad was really happening at work at all. If I’d told her that I had a totally ordinary job and was actually luckier than 99% of people in the workforce, I don’t think I would have done myself any favours. I don’t think I’d now be looking at a medical certificate giving me a whole month of leave due to a “medical condition”.

And so last night I simply took a photo of the certificate and emailed it to my boss. I bet he got a surprise. I’ve never taken a single day’s sick leave until now. I’m the “reliable” one. The “conscientious” one. Okay, also the boring, plodding, uninspired one, but at the very least, the one who could be guaranteed to show up and keep the world turning when everyone else was busy taking carer’s leave or trying to fit their personal responsibilities into the crannies of their work lives because business calls can only be made during the day.

The weirdest part was not giving an explanation. I’m the ultimate explainer (you’ve probably got that by now!). I need to apologise for everything and give reasons for everything that deviates in any way from the accepted norm. I’m the person who, when invited somewhere I don’t want to go, can never just say “Thanks but no thanks”. I either have to come up with an excuse that avoids hurting their feelings (huh! so I can be inventive after all!), or, more likely, end up going because it would be rude to say no.

So, can you imagine how absolutely and totally weird it felt to just say, “Sorry. I’m not well. I won’t be able to return to work until May. Please find a medical certificate attached.” It’s a good thing I got to write it. I don’t think I could possibly have gotten the words out if I’d had to speak them. My heart did about 50 backflips just in the process of typing that one brief message. And then it practically stopped at the moment my finger hovered above “Send”. It felt like the rudest email I’d ever written. Not to mention the most deceitful. I stopped breathing until it hurt and my head was spinning. But finally I did hit “Send”.

So, what do I do when they ring me or email me? Well, it may just happen that my phone is switched off. And that I won’t be checking my emails. It may even just be the case that there’s now a typo in my personal address recorded at work. That happened accidentally once before, back when I first started work, and it prevented my boss from visiting me when he was paying the respectful visit one owes to the daughter of a friend. Who knows? It might even work again…

Okay, now I’m gloating just a little. Hell, if I’m going to be bad, I might as well enjoy it! That only just occurred to me. I’ve been so busy OMG-ing all over the place that I’ve never stopped to think. Wow. Now I can guess what it feels like to make up an excuse and not show up at school, even though you’re not actually doing anything exciting instead. It’s a huge and powerful rush! OMG! For a whole different reason this time. I DID this!!! OMG! Are you proud? Or are you just like “Seriously? You’re making an issue out of this? Can we move on already?” But you aren’t really saying that because I made you up. And I wrote you into being as a curious, engaged and friendly reader, one who would champion me and celebrate with me. And oh, I might as well celebrate. It would be an awful shame not to.

Now I have to make my time count. I’m not quite sure how to do that – how to get that different perspective. The only thing I can think of is to keep on writing, regularly. And see if, together, you and I, we can’t come up with something over the course of a month. I don’t dare go out in case someone sees me and realises that I’m actually not sick. And I can’t afford to hire a car and travel. Anyway, I suspect I would just use that kind of “doing something different” as a distraction to avoid confronting the reality of the near future. So perhaps this will be a writing month. I never really thought this far ahead. For all my planning, fantasising and day-dreaming, I never actually thought about what would come after “OMG”. I think I was afraid to. Because if I had, I would have had to ask myself “What will I do differently? What will change?” And I don’t know what will change. I only know that it must change.

For today, I suspect I will be doing more sleeping than anything else. But perhaps that’s okay. Perhaps the first and most important thing is to find this new rhythm. Get past the racing heart and the sense of the enormity of what I’ve done so I can find a new path to walk. A new rhythm to follow.

The journey begins. The journey of the April Fool.

O – M – G !!!