Wind… that’s the first prompt of Feve’s summer writing project, Reminiscences. When I saw it, I thought about wind. Actual wind. Storms. Maybe in the desert, when I did a survival week at the age of fourteen? Or storms in Namibia? Or maybe some of the southwestern storms we frequently have here? Or the wind in my hair when walking on the beach?
I tried to steer my thoughts to one specific memory, or maybe two, but nothing felt right. The words, ‘Winds of Change’ seemed to be stuck in my mind, yes, almost like the Scorpion’s song.
Change has been on my mind a lot lately, because of the number of unexpected changes that happened in the past eight weeks. This must be the reason for those words getting stuck in my head, and my mind wandering to different changes in my life, as I watched ths stormy wind blow outside.
Change of scenery
I have lost count of how many times I have been the ‘new girl’ in school. Just when we got settled in, and made some friends, my parents decided to move again. It was never just moving around in one town. No, we moved from my town of birth in South Africa to Namibia, and four years later we moved back to South Africa again, but to a different town than where we lived before. Before the move to Namibia in my early teens, my parents had moved around with us as small children, the first one being only months after my birth.
Sometimes I wonder if the moving around, and feeling like you are always ‘new’ and not fitting in, has made me to be wary of change at first, and then stepping up, and adjusting to the new circumstances, to make the best of it? One thing I have learned and learn again every time I go through change, is that there is but one person I can fully rely on, and that is myself. I am the only one who can make change work for me, to accept the growth from it, even if the growth is only learning how to fake confidence in a terrifying new situation.
It’s actually funny — if that’s the right word — that up to the time I moved in with Master T back in 2004, I did exactly the same as my parents by moving every couple of years. I know I was searching for the place where I belong, and I think (read: know) my parents have always too. My mom never stopped moving. She had never lived in one place for more than four years, in her entire life.
The most radical move I have gone though was when I packed up my life in South Africa and moved to the Netherlands. I fled my country. No, not because I did anything criminal, but because of a very bad relationship, which I am currently writing about in my No Consent series. This one wasn’t easy. It took me a year to make the decision to move, to leave behind everything I knew, and move to a different culture. It was difficult for the kids too, and many times I felt guilty for putting them through such a radical change, but not anymore. They have beautiful lives here, and I don’t think there lives would’ve been as good in South Africa, than it is here.
I have written about being divorced twice before I met and married Master T. I know almost without an ounce of doubt that I wouldn’t have fallen in love with Master T had I met him at the age of eighteen, when I met my first husband. I was much too shallow back then, knew far too little about life and relationships to see the beauty within a person. Thanks to the two broken marriages, and a couple of broken relationships, I came to the point in my life where I met Master T, and could appreciate fully what a wonderful person he is.
I’m a creative person. There are so many things I tried, some of which I have done for quite some time, others which I have tried once, maybe twice and then stopped. I took art classes when I was in school, but after one of the moves, and into a new school, there were no art classes anymore. That was sad. I wrote stories as a teen. In my very late teens I tried y hand at drawing patterns, and making my own clothes. Months later I was bored with that, but I did draw the pattern of my first wedding dress.
I wrote stories when I was in my twenties. In my late twenties, I tried my hand at making wishing cards. That lasted for a couple of months, and I got bored again. I turned to making websites, using Microsoft Frontpage, and teaching myself HTML to do the things I couldn’t get it to do with Frontpage. I wrote stories when I was in my thirties. I took up painting in my early forties, returning to my art. All through my teens and twenties and thirties I was interested in photography.
About two years after I started painting under the supervision of a coach, I stopped again. I did this because I chose to focus on writing. I had started this website, and somehow everything I did all through my life, all those things I tried, all the changing interests, came together in one place: writing, photography and even the HTML I taught myself.
Writing clearly has been part of me for most of my life, and all the creative things I did eventually all came together in one place: this blog. I don’t think of this as a sex blog anymore. I have stopped thinking of it like that somewhere in 2019, because there are more posts that are not about sex, than posts that actually share anything about my sex life. After a little ‘push’ in April 2020, I don’t identify as a sex blogger anymore, but prefer the term: lifestyle blogger.
This was meant to be.
Winds of Change
I believe everything happens for a reason. Change might not always be easy, but through change we learn; we grow. I look back on my life, and I see the winds of change that had blown through my life, that had lifted me up and put me down somewhere else. I didn’t always like the new place I had landed, but every change eventually turned out to be an improvement, and everything I did was necessary in some or other way to make me the person I am today.
© Rebel’s Notes
Image from Pixabay