Deciding is Power

Starting February at the feet of Leslie’s Pass was an out-of-this-world experience. It felt like I had transcended into another realm, one where grief spoke softer. I felt like I was there with my grandmother, sitting on her lap, silently watching me fall asleep. The sky Milky Way clear, a view that humbles you into stillness. Stars spilled endlessly, epitomising Rihanna’s Diamonds in the Sky, glittering with quiet authority and reminding me how small, yet significant I was.

I sat in my tent for hours watching thunder roll across the mountains. It painted the sky with colours of danger and satisfaction. A rare combination of beauty and warning. It roared louder than the best vocalist you know. That night marked the beginning of “better”, simply because I decided that it would be. Sometimes deciding is the bravest thing you can do. 

The morning after was a bundu bashing journey to Marble Baths. Branches scratching skin, laughter echoing through the valley and a refreshing swim that felt like a baptism.

For a moment, I lived inside Anaconda, minus the snakes, except for the puff adder that slithered under my boot and forced Veza to land on his back. It was the dream trip the cast would have hoped for, raw, unpredictable, alive.

February was the last month of my thirties. Planning it felt daunting because it forced me to look back at the past decade with honesty I could no longer avoid. Patterns revealed themselves. Lessons I had ignored demanded acknowledgement. I learned my role in certain stories and accepted that some things happened simply because people can be cruel beings. It required letting go and not gently either. It was a ripping away of expectations, relationships, versions of myself that no longer fit.

Work remained work. Crying every second day, complaining every fifteen minutes. I loved the job but hated the person it was turning me into. I was becoming small, reactive, bitter. Negative Nancys are the most exhausting kind of people because they drain the room without offering light. I knew something had to shift, even if I did not yet know how.

Before I could catch my breath, Kilimanjaro was at my toes. On the eve of the hike, I learned that my guide was female. What startled me was noticing she was pregnant. I pretended not to see it and let her believe my ignorance. I hoped for the best and trusted her strength more than my fear.

The journey was lovely, gentler than I anticipated. Perhaps January had already taken everything from me. I was an empty vessel climbing a mountain, hoping that somewhere along the trail I would find a spark, a soul, something that would light mine again. Step by step, breath by breath, I surrendered to the climb.

On the 22nd of February, I summited Kilimanjaro. Everything changed.

I returned home with an action plan to build the woman of my dreams. The first step was painful but necessary. I resigned from my job, only to be talked out of it by my manager. Still, by the end of February, I knew the truth could not be negotiated. I would eventually have to leave. So I began exploring ways to make a living beyond the confines of a nine-to-five. I intensified the plan. I chose to own my time.

February taught me that deciding is power. Seeing that decision through is freedom.