“Picking up where you left off guarantees a good finish.” – A saying that echoes through the corridors of my past. It once sounded like sage advice, whispered to me in earnest tones. Today, it feels different.
Over the last two years, life has become a series of pauses. Each one a punctuation mark in the grandness of my life. In these moments of stillness, I find myself revisiting the counsel that once guided my steps. With each pause, the words lose their luster, like an outdated compass leading me astray.
Life’s twists and turns have a way of challenging the predictability of such advice. The pauses, those intentional breaks or unforeseen halts, have become a canvas where I paint my evolution. In their silence, I reflect on the expectations bundled with that well-worn saying. The belief that picking up the threads of my past, could ensure a harmonious conclusion.
It’s a comforting thought. The romance attached to the idea of resuming a paused project or rediscovering an old love. However, my attempts to embody this principle have been nothing short of a battle with my own mind.
The notion of picking up where I left off has become a quagmire. A boggy terrain where my creativity sinks into the weight of my own expectations.
Lovejoy Mlaba, Bean There Coffee, 2023.
Writing this, I choose not to rush to the familiar lines of the past. Instead, I aim to embrace the uncertainty, savoring the suspense of what lies ahead.
Maybe, just maybe, the key to a good finish lies not in blindly picking up where I left off. It could be in letting life unfold in its own unpredictable, beautiful way.
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