Change

Change, like the wind | Like the water, like skin | Change, like the sky | Like the leaves, like a butterfly - Big Thief

The only constant in life is change. You would think facing it again and again would put you at ease with the idea, but facing the unknown never gets any easier and I suspect – as one gets older – it only gets harder.

My first true experience of it, in every sense of the word, came in India. Stay with me here. At that point in time, I had just completed my Master's in London and was determined to carve out a career as a screenwriter. Awaiting graduation and the confirmation of a two-year work visa, I was on hiatus until further notice. My two years of prolific writing, shit weather, and Oscar laden work would have to wait. So, travel I did.

Sri Lanka first. My choice. A tropical jewel just below India that had so much to offer beyond its physical limitations as a teardrop island. From serene beaches to misty mountains. Tea plantations to ancient temples. Great food to infectiously kind people; all brought together by a booming tourism industry built on hiking, yoga, and surfing towns connected by an old but efficient train system gifted by the English.

It was everything I expected and more. But once my time was up on the island of Serendib, I was off to the source of yoga – Rishikesh, Tapovan. India. My choice at the time, but I now suspect fate also had a hand.

After a gruelling four weeks, I came out as a qualified yoga teacher, developed chronic knee pain, and fell in love with Kirtan. Most importantly, however, I made dear friends in that ashram and walked a spiritual path, one that culminated in forgiveness at the edge of the Ganga Ma. I shed tears in that river and left not as an angry man blaming God for my mother’s demise, but accepting the path laid before me.

Since then, I have returned to South Africa. The knees have recovered, the weather has improved, and to my surprise, I have made some new friends (shoutout Bergies). It has been an interesting path, and I have surrendered to the change. I visit my mother often and play guitar for her (the one song has a bit of Kirtan in it).

But just as I have settled, change has come again. From Muizenberg to Kalk Bay and a new home in the form of a beautiful cottage up the road from Olympia Bakery. I even have a homely writing desk with a nice window. Despite this, the fear has once again crept in, and I reminisce about the good times living with friends at the Berg House. I often think about our adopted dog, Roger, who now sleeps on the couch in my absence.

But I have learnt from the river. I surrender. And so, every morning I make a journey to the Kalk Bay tidal pool to swim (despite a recent neck mishap). On that path, I witness a bookseller laying out his books for the day opposite the bakery, my uncle’s book The Full Circle amongst his collection. I walk past two women looking at the Wall of Remembrance. “That’s Jackie and his wife,” the one points out as they drink coffee.

I smile as I round the corner and make my way past Salt. This place is starting to feel like home. Tao, the writer in Kalk Bay, I think to myself. I cross the road and see the train pulling into the station. From the other side, I hear the attendant shouting, “Behind the yellow line! Behind the yellow line!”

I shake my head in amusement as I head down the tunnel to the tidal pool. Her voice takes me back to London and I think about Tao the screenwriter – getting on the underground to go write his scripts. I have a desk; I will write them for him. But how different life could’ve been. The paths we take and the paths we are set on.

I strip off my clothes and walk down the steps to the water, trying to relax my body as I prepare for the cold. I think about how some things change while others stay the same. Full circle moments and others less clear. But through it all, I surrender – to the path, to the cold water, to the change.