Life’s a beach!

There are those that can’t be caged in a 9-to-5 and I am one of those (in my case, it was a 9-to-infinite). There are those who are shit scared to say enough is enough and get out of their comfortable job, and I am one of those too (okay, mine wasn’t so comfortable because of various factors).

But I took a huge step. I quit my job on the 14th of April, served my 2-month notice period and I am just now getting out of an afternoon nap to write this post.

The seed to quit was sowed way back in December. Unhappiness at the working conditions that my agency was offering, led to me feeling unfulfilled, which in turn led to thoughts like, ‘I need to do something’, ‘only this can’t be my calling’.

Two trips to Marvante helped me calm down but didn’t really show me the way or give me any answers. I have always had a unique association with water. Where my mom grew up, and a place we visited every summer holiday, is sandwiched between two tributaries of the river Seeta, and a 10-minute walk following the mud roads leads to the sea. And that is where I’d go (alone, even as a child, as the whole village knew each other) to sit and ease my troubled mind.

It was only natural that my mind would yearn for the sea, or even the sea would call out to my body, asking me to visit. The first trip I made was with Chris, a friend who lives in the mountains (Jackass!). And, the second happened during my notice period. During the first one, much contemplation was done, many a plan was hatched, and the sea spoke to me. In its constant roar and dance of the waves, it reminded me of what my grandfather would say, “Time and tide wait for no man.” I went against that advice in the five days spent there. All I did was ‘wait, watch and ponder’ (those were the captains I gave the images below). And when I returned to my regular life, I was still fearful of what lies ahead.

But then something snapped. On April 1st, I texted my founder telling her I need to quit. The straw had finally broken the camel’s back.

The second time, I forced (yes!) myself to have fun. I worked like I hadn’t broken my back, but I enjoyed the afternoon beers, embraced the sea (even though she kept pushing me away) every evening, and ate some amazing food. I had returned different. Time and tide may not wait for any man, but this one was willing to take the risk.

And, as I write, I am still fearful. But I am also excited for what is to come. And, if the going gets tough, I’ll get going to the beach again. I’m sure it’ll have answers for me.

And the moral of this story? If you’re reading this, send me work. I’m a writer/photographer and a bloody good one at that. It’s time I own it.