What if I never jump?

There’s a sadness in me I cannot find expression for.

I’m almost there.

The floodgates have been open for a while.

And still yet the river flows with force and intensity,

the intensity of tension

bound in every muscle.

I want to let go.

Standing at the precipice,

in my heart I fly

in my head I’m gripping tightly on the reins.

I know what I want to feel like

but everything before has been about control and discipline

This is about the undefined, the ambiguous, the free.

It’s scary.

What if I fall?

But worse, what if I never jump?

Inspiration: finding my voice

When I was small my Grandpa Henry always seemed to be game for some mischief or another.  He was good fun and we (my brothers and I) always wanted to be close to him.

If he went to leave the room, we would say: “Grandpa Henry, where are you going?”

He would respond:  “I’m going mad, do you want to come?”

To which we would enthusiastically say “Yes”.

Madness had a way of losing some of its appeal the older I got.  In fact I went out of my way to create a facade of ‘having it together’ and being quite sane.  No one really wants to appear to be on the madness spectrum.

I’ve kept it together for too long.  I have been too silent and (if I am honest) dishonest.  I AM a bit mad.  I like to dance in the kitchen when no one is looking.  I like to talk to myself.  I like to sing songs that make me cry.  As I child I liked to sit in my cupboard on my own, hanging out.  I hear voices (usually mine, and usually negative.)  I kept (and keep) much of this to myself because I assume people would think me weird.

I have travelled much, read in abundance, experienced loads and thought deeply often.  I am an artist trapped inside the body of an MBA.  I have a voice and lots to say.  Until now, I have not found expression for any of this.  I didn’t have the confidence to celebrate my own unique way of seeing the world.  I felt I would just be adding to the general noise.

I think my Grandfather was right.  The world is mad.  And instead of fighting it, I am choosing to go with it.  ‘Going with it’ means being aware of it.  Drawing attention to the creeping changes in the world that seem innocent enough, but when they become multi-layered are abhorrent to me.

Watch this space.

I am going mad, and I hope that like my Grandfather, I am not alone.