Tag Archive for: Covid-19

I Struggle With Adult Life

Quick note: This was written and drafted on July 30th, 2020. It’s taken me this long to let go and just share this piece. Here it is:

I’m lying in bed right now and I’m unable to sleep. In the morning I’ll wake up and it’ll be the last complete day I spend with my daughter Zaynub before she moves to Dubai with her mother. 

I wrote a blog post last year called “Love Is An Act of Sacrifice” and was meant to write a follow up not too long after…actually I was meant to write a follow up post almost immediately. It outlined what happened when I met my ex-wife to discuss Zaynub’s future and how I felt, the thoughts that I had to process. 

I started writing the post, but I just couldn’t bring myself to publish it, because that would mean really sitting down with the piece, editing it and having to think about it more. I didn’t know this at the time…I just know that I avoided the task of completing that blog post. Then I got busy writing other posts.

On March 8th I had dinner with my friend’s Sofia and Ty and we chopped it up over dinner, discussed my daughter’s impending move to Dubai that year. Expressing my feelings  with my big brother and big sister really helped me attain some peace.

During the pandemic, I had time to think. That wasn’t all I did. The pandemic was full of anxiety and grief and mourning too. I came close to losing my big sis and friend Sofia to the virus. I’ve documented Ty’s death in these posts Cosmic Dust, Tomorrow, Saying Goodbye, and Repressing Grief. I had a couple of friends in China were ill with Covid too. 

During the pandemic, I had time to think. I realised dealing with Zaynub moving away would be a two stage process. 

Stage One: Processing and accepting the idea of Zaynub leaving.

This took weeks, initially I would talk to others about this, but very quickly I decided to just keep this to myself. Dinner with Ty and Sofia helped me consolidate my thoughts and feelings after I’d done the important work of sitting with them myself. Free from anyone else’s influence and suggestions. 

Stage Two: Accepting and Adapting to the Reality of Zaynub leaving.

This is where I’m at now. At the time of me writing and drafting this, she will fly out to Dubai in a little over 24 hours from now. 

I’m teary and utterly overwhelmed with emotions. 

I knew that this day was coming and I knew a fresh wave of emotions would be visiting me. I just wasn’t aware it’d be more of a tsunami. 

The past few months have been a mixed bag, bittersweet:
I dealt with the loss of income due to the pandemic, just when I’d acquired a new skill that I think could completely change my life and finally enable me to pursue my dreams. 

I stressed over 4 friends who were hospitalised with Covid-19. I lost one of them to the virus, came close to losing 2 of them and 2 of them are still vulnerable and I still worry about them both.

My mental health has been tested to the limits and yet my understanding and self awareness around my mental health grows with each day. This enhanced understanding of my mental health is something I hope can benefit my friends whose patience, love and support I want to reciprocate. 

Part of this understanding has been facilitated by therapeutic counselling and as a result I’ve been referred and have started submitting paperwork to potentially explore diagnosis of ADHD and Autism. That’s a longer story and I’ll be exploring that in many more dedicated blog posts. 

The recent weeks have been the most trying of my life as I struggle to process grief, but they have a also been filled with pure joy as Zaynub and I have spent time together. 

We’ve laughed, joked, watched Rick and Morty. I read her some of my poetry and she genuinely loved it. We discussed my divorce with her mother. We discussed my own fractured and dysfunctional relationship with my family. 

Zaynub talked to me about my dreams and the importance of me following my dreams. 

We had a heart to heart about Ty’s death after Shortee Blitz delivered his instalment of “Pass the Torch” (an event held to remember Ty) and Zaynub held space for me to cry and let me hug her as I communicated my pain over Ty’s loss.

Zaynub has confided in me, I’ve confided in her. We’ve expressed how much we’re going to miss each other. 

I’ve acted as a chauffeur and chaperone with her and her friends as Zaynub has tried to squeeze in as much time with her close friends as possible before she has to say goodbye to them. 

I’ve felt love and pure joy. I’ve felt unconditional love. I’ve expressed unconditional love. 

Zaynub has been my anchor for the past (almost) 11 years. But children are not supposed to be tethered to their parents, not physically, nor emotionally.

It’s time to truly uphold the ideals of Kahlil Gibran’s poem “On Children”

On Children 

Your children are not your children 
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself 
They come through you but not from you
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you

You may give them your love but not your thoughts
For they have their own thoughts
You may house their bodies but not their souls
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday. 

You are the bows from which your children 
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, 
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far. 
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness; 
For even as He loves the arrow that flies, 
So He loves also the bow that is stable

Kahlil Gibran

Let this be my North Star as Zaynub’s father. 

Navigating Depression and ADHD as a Creative

It’s 7am. I’m getting up.

Doesn’t sound unusual. Thing is, I went down for a nap at 6pm yesterday. I was tired.

Again, sounds normal and reasonable.

I have long Covid. I tested positive for Covid early December 2020. I was extremely ill for 2 weeks. It’s now the middle of May 2021. I’m still grappling with severe fatigue, breathlessness and severe hair loss.

Last night I was going to go out for a walk. It pelted down with rain and hail stone and the sky thundered and roared.

I stayed indoors.

At 6pm I decided to take a nap. I was trying to read “Own Your Own Weird” by Jason Zook, but was way too tired.

Pre long Covid, this nap would be brief and I’d wake up later in the evening, ready to be creative and productive.

Instead, I woke up 13 hours later.

I woke up, upset that I can’t this control this aspect of my health and my time.

I’m anxious as I’m waiting to hear back on some leads for paid work projects. They’ll get back to me. But for now, I can only focus on the silence in my email inbox.

I decided to load up Logic Pro X and open I beat I was making so I could share it online. These beats were made using presets, so I learnt the hard way that Logic Pro X does NOT save the presets you choose to make beats with when you save it.

When you make original compositions it saves everything. But not when you use presents, it just won’t.

I created 5 beats last week. All made and saved this way. Lost forever.

Last week, just before I took a break for Eid I was on a high. New leads for paid freelancing gigs, beats made…..lots of promise.

An artistic and creative path has ups and downs, twists and turns. For me, this is heavily exacerbated by my ADHD.

ADHD makes me far more susceptible to extreme highs and lows. Depressive episodes and lows are a lifelong companion.

Waking up to the kind of start I have today is often the recipe for very unproductive depressive episodes.

But I’ve been doing my morning pages this morning and gaining some clarity.

I’m feeling very down. Doesn’t take Colombo to figure that out.

But, I have leads for work. They’re likely busy. So I’ll park that anxiety to one side, or at least try to.

As for the lost beats. I’ll create again and I’ll write down the settings for beats made using presets on Logic Pro X, so I don’t repeat this mistake.

The lost time and fatigue from long Covid?

My body has been impacted by an unforgiving virus. My body needed the rest. I listened to my body. I need to be patient with my health.

Despite my current ADHD mood swing, essentially a depressive episode, I’m gonna try and push on today.

A creative path isn’t all bouncy castles every day.

I’m going to focus on what I can control today.

I’ll go out for a walk and work on some creative and paid freelancing goals and read.

I’ll “Keep Going”.

The pendulum will swing the other way.

If you’re an artist, a creative and / or have ADHD, know that you’re not alone navigating the ups and downs that come with what feels like a lonely path.

You’re not alone.

Keep Going.

We need you and your gifts.

Share them with us.

Let generosity be your North Star.

Repressing Grief

I’m finally waking up.

This past week has been full of tears.

I’ve received knock backs. This isn’t new. I’ve heard “no” far more often than I’ve heard “yes”.

Despite this, I’ve been unusually teary.

I’ve become accustomed to shutting down my emotions this past year.

My close friend and favourite artist Ty passed away from Coronavirus last year.

On top of that, my ex-wife landed a great job abroad last year and wanted to move with to Dubai with my daughter to pursue this opportunity. I signed the consent forms for my daughter to move to Dubai.

It wasn’t easy, but it was the right thing to do. Anyways….

I’ve repressed my feelings about both of these seismic changes in my life.

I’ve done it as a survival mechanism.

However, this past week, that’s been changing.

I’ve felt more. Albeit painful shit, tears and even anger.

Last week was May 7th, the one year anniversary of Ty’s transition.

The night before the anniversary I felt anger and rage at some negative developments in my personal life. This particular problem has been ongoing. My partner has felt rage on my behalf, yet up until earlier last week I’ve been repressing my feelings under the guise of stoicism.

But the night of May 6th, the night before Ty’s anniversary, I finally felt rage, hurt, pain, loss and tears.

The next morning before I went out to Lambeth Cemetery and Brixton to celebrate Ty’s life I took a phone call from a friend. For 2 hours we hatted and I let myself cry about losing Ty.

I’ve spent a year fearful of my emotions. It’s stunted me. People would asking how I’m doing. People would ask how I’m coping with my daughter living in another country. I’d like to people.

“I’m ok…..It is what it is….I’m just getting on with it….”

May 7th, I felt a shift. I cried on the phone to my friend about losing Ty.

Then I attended a celebration on Ty’s life and finally expressed my grief in front of other people. I cried without any self restraint. It was cathartic.

I was asked about my daughter and I finally gave an honest answer.

“I’m struggling….I miss her….I don’t know when I’ll see her next.”

I’ve given into my feelings. I’m not trying to resist my sadness and my grief.

This is my 2nd blog post since January. Both posts were written within days of each other over the past week.

My block is lifting. It’s not a coincidence. I’m not hiding from my grief anymore.

I’m lying to other people a little less.

Importantly, I’m lying to myself a little less.

More honesty and less self deception going forward.

It’s Ok to Not Be OK…

I’ve been grappling with what to write lately. Part of me has wanted to write a review of the year so far. Part of me wants to tackle my mental health challenges and where I’m at currently with it. Or maybe I write about both?
 
I’m just going to write until I’ve emptied myself, then I’ll figure out if everything I’ve written in this particular writing session will be in one epic blog post or if I’ll create several blog posts.

I just need to get back to writing and doing so without judging myself and without getting so hung up on the end product. 

Process > Outcome.

I keep reminding other people of this, yet I’ve completely forgotten to internalise this truth. Just write. See what takes shape and then take it from there. 

I’ve promised myself and my readers recently that I’ll get back to writing this blog. It’s not happened and I’ve struggled to make it happen. 

One of the best creative decisions I made this year was to start writing this blog. It tapped into latent aspects of my creativity and it has resonated with people strongly. 

I loved doing it and I still want to do it. But I’m struggling. 

I’m struggling to get started. 

I’m struggling to finish what I start. 

I’m struggling to trust myself and my creativity.

I’m struggling to be honest with myself.

I’m running around telling people I’m ok. I’m not. I’m not trying to alarm anyone. I am the strongest and the most resilient I’ve ever been in my life. I’m proud of how much I’ve grown since 2017 and how much I continue to develop my self awareness. 

But in spite of all the positives, I have to really start being honest with myself. 

This has not been an easy year at all. Not even close. Yet I walk around acting like the year wasn’t that bad or that it’s not reasonable for me to be hurting and struggling to function.

I’ve had to process a lot of emotions, thoughts and grief. I’ve had to make some really important decisions around how I look after myself and how I’m going to pursue my dreams.  

My divorce came through in January, it took 3 years and I welcomed it. I felt much lighter as a result of it. But it was quickly followed by unexpected conversations with my ex wife about where she and our daughter would live going forward.

After 3 years of me playing musical chairs around different parts of South London, I’d finally decided to move to Morden to be closer to my daughter in Worcester Park.

The initial plan my ex wife had was to sell up and move to Kingston upon Thames. That was a slight adjustment, nothing I couldn’t handle. An extra 15-30 mins on travel time each way depending on traffic. 

But we had to discuss issues around money, quality of life and yes, Brexit. Brexit is not fun and the UK has become a much more toxic place as a result. My ex said she would stay close to me geographically so that I could see more of my daughter.

But I’ve never wanted my daughter to feel beholden to me. I want her to have the best chance in life. So I told my ex I was open to her exploring her options outside of London.

Within a week, my ex called me up to talk. This was the catalyst for the post “Love Is An Act of Sacrifice”.

She had landed a job offer as a head of maths department at a top private school in Dubai. 

I meant to write a follow up post to that, but I just couldn’t. The same way I’ve struggled to write and complete any blog posts over lockdown.

I’m scared to write because writing is a clarified form of thinking. And quite frankly, I don’t want to think about all the factors that went into me ultimately giving my ex the green light to take the job offer and move to Dubai at the end of July this year. 

I don’t want to write about and ultimately think about a lot of things this year because it has been exhausting. I’m fucking tired. Yet, I know I can’t give up. I can’t give up on life. I can’t give up on my gifts. So I’m trying to navigate the balance between being “kind to myself”, but also holding myself accountable and trying to “get shit done”. 

I’ll likely write a more in detail blog post, or even a series of posts around my daughter and  how I’ve been processing and navigating her move Dubai. 

Needless to say, it’s been challenging and I had to navigate all kinds of opinions and advice from friends and acquaintances on my decision. Most of it has been supportive. Some of it well meaning but really not helpful. I had dinner with my friends Ty and Sofia back on March 8th to process all of this. 

It was an emotional dinner at the time, even more so now as Ty has since passed due to complications from Covid-19 and I almost lost Sofia to Covid-19 too. 

I’ve not allowed myself to acknowledge how hard that was. Two close friends, both struck down with Covid-19. It’s stressful waking up every day wondering if your friends will still be here. 

It’s stressful when you lose a friend. 

I’m grateful that Sofia survived. 

I had to not only lose a friend, but attend his funeral and help lay him to rest.

Prior to all of that, at the beginning of lockdown, my ex wife got ill with Covid-19 symptoms. I had to figure out what life may look like if she had passed away and my daughter came to live with me. My daughter was shook during this whole time. She loves her mother dearly and it knocked her off balance to see her mum so ill and to entertain the thought that maybe just maybe something bad might happen to her. This took so much out of me in a brief period of time. My ex wife recovered quickly, but I’m not sure I’ve fully recovered from this incident.

I’ve literally packed this whole event in a box and sealed it shut with metaphorical rolls of brown tape. 

As this year has progressed my daughter’s departure to Dubai drew ever closer. I focused all of my time almost exclusively on my relationship with her. 

We watched Rick and Morty together, she held space for me and held me when I cried after Shortee Blitz’ edition of “Pass The Torch”, an online celebration of Ty’s life. We joked, laughed and took the piss out of each other. My daughter Zaynub asked me to perform poems I wrote and she complimented me on how much she loves my writing. She told me she acknowledges supports my pursuit of my dreams.

She opened up to me about so many things that will remain private here. She’s getting older and I want her to feel safe and unconditionally loved in ways I didn’t when I was growing up.

I’ve been often critiqued for my parenting skills and my parenting style. I’ve learnt to respect people’s opinions and input, but to follow my intuition as a father. 

Very little of how I conduct myself and live my life adheres to sensible conventions. Why on earth would my parenting and my relationship with my daughter be any different?

Anyways, we’ve become closer than ever. A beautiful double edged sword. My relationship with my daughter is in a place I’ve longed for since she was first born. But it’s bittersweet as it comes at a time when she is now leaving to go live in another country. 

Saying goodbye at the airport was fucking hard. Zaynub’s best friend and her mother also came to see her off and they were both very emotional. I did my best not to show any emotion and neither did Zaynub. Zaynub’s best friend revealed to me that Zaynub had been in tears the night before as she will miss me. It should hurt, maybe it does on a subconscious level, but I was reassured to hear this information given to me by Zaynub’s best friend. 

I’ve struggled to feel secure about my relationship with Zaynub, both for the first 7 years of her life when I lived with her and her mother and then for the tumultuous 3 years her mother and I tried to negotiate our divorce. 

This information and a handful of other moments during lockdown really allowed me to feel closer to my daughter and give us opportunities to clearly express our love to each other. 

This year, I also made some tough choices around how I intend to earn a living going forward. 

I want to earn a living as an artist, I know I can and I will. But I have to bridge that gap for now. Between where I am and where I want to be, where I know I can be. I’ll get there. Insh’Allah. 
But in the meantime I have to find a way to do “bread and butter” work. Stuff that’ll pay rent, groceries etc. 

For the past 3 years as I’ve leaned more into my creativity I’ve grappled with what I do for a living. I’ve alternated between working for startups and during extreme bouts of depression and anxiety, I’ve worked for below living wage delivering pizzas. 

Regardless of what I was paid, the challenges were the same. Giving too much energy to things that don’t contribute to my dreams and then having to find a way to switch gears when I get home and “create”.

I decided to retrain as a copywriter. Again, like so many things I’m touching upon in this post, I’ll go into more detail around why I chose to be a freelance copywriter. This decision to retrain is partly driven by my autism (I’ve been diagnosed) and my ADHD (I’m awaiting a diagnosis). Some of it is driven by the need to have greater flexibility and to earn better money while freeing up more time to work on artistic projects.

I came so close to landing some great clients back around March/April this year. But Covid-19 saw that work disappear. I’m on Universal Credit. This is the first time I’m on benefits. 

Again, I’ve yet to fully allow myself to acknowledge what I feel. I’m frustrated, hurt and angry at my loss of income at a time when I have retrained in a new skill and wanted to make major changes to my lifestyle. 

Let me cut through the noise I’ve just typed above. My self esteem has taken a massive hit. My entire life I’ve struggled to hold down work and earn money, whether it’s when I wasn’t pursuing my dreams and even now while I’m pursuing my dreams.

Basically, those contracts would have been the first time in my adult life I’d be getting paid consistently for something I want to do and enjoy. It was going to be on my terms. It would be to fund my dreams. To keep me going. I’ve taken this set back personally and as a reflection on me and my own abilities. So much so that I’ve not been able to regain any kind of momentum.

I try. I start. I stop. 

I need to forgive myself and remind myself of how hard it’s been for so many people to find work, keep work and earn money this year. I’m not alone. 

I got diagnosed with autism last month. That was huge. For most of my life I’ve known something isn’t quite “normal” or “right” with me. I’ve struggled to hold down jobs, form or maintain friendships and relationships. 

Being diagnosed with autism is a huge win as it allows me to begin to understand myself. But it was a lot to process. Overlapping this with all of the other emotions I’ve struggling with this year. It’s a lot. 
I’ve yet to forgive myself for all the things I did “wrong” related to my autism or that people judged me for related to my autism over four decades of my life. 

I’m anxious about my ADHD diagnosis. The final piece of my mental health puzzle I’ve been trying to solve since 2016. 

You see, even as I write this, I’m only just starting to realise how much I’ve been dealing with this year. 

I’ve succeeded in suppressing almost ALL of it. 

It’s not a shock that I’m currently not ok right now. 

I’m grappling with a very strong and stubborn depressive episode.

I’m in pain and I really want this pain to end. I’ve written about this in a previous blog post called “The Chemicals in my Brain Are Liars”. 

I’ve woken up recently and wished I’d never woken up again. It’s not new, I learn to deal with it. 

Taking stock of this year, I know where the problem lies. This year really hasn’t gone according to how I wanted it to. I have years, decades of unfulfilled potential and output as an artist to make up for. I am closer than ever to carving out MY life, not the one others thrust upon me. 

I’m close. So fucking close. But I’m treating the shortcomings of my achievements this year as an indictment of my own abilities. They’re not. 

I’ve not forgiven myself for how this year has gone. 

I’ve not forgiven myself for the past. For my marrying someone I probably shouldn’t have.

I’ve not forgiven myself for not following my dreams in my 20s and now trying to play catch up.

I’ve not forgiven myself for losing momentum creatively over lockdown. For losing momentum with this blog and my creative practice. 

This blog post is far from my best work. Sentences are not perfect. There’s likely too much repetition and it’ll be deemed “unfocused”.

I’m focusing on all things that this blog post “isn’t”. That’s what’s caused so much creative anxiety and procrastination. 

But what trumps (so sorry for using that word) all of that is what this post IS.

This post IS finished. 

Please stay with me. I have so much to share. I’ll be doing a 2nd write up of 2020 entitled “2020 – The Year So Far” where I focus on my wins and the positives. Things that should be celebrated.

I’ve written a lot of very sad, melancholy and dark work. My output from 2017 to 2018 was largely drenched in that tone and energy. It wasn’t my fault…maybe it was….but shit was hard and I couldn’t frame things in any other way than through pain, cynicism and sorrow.

But that’s been changing. Whether it’s my blog posts or my poetry, I’ll show you darkness, but my goal is to end on the light. 

Light > Darkness

I think that’s another reason why I’ve been reluctant to write and share work with you. I’ve been scared to show you the darkness, the hurt and the pain. There isn’t enough light in this post. But that’s ok. 
My follow up post will have plenty of that. 

I’m learning to trust myself, trust my process, trust my journey and trust my audience. 

Stay with me. Please.

The intermission is over. For now. 

I promise I’ll continue to lead with honesty and lead with love.

Always. 

Saying Goodbye

Three weeks to the day today, I laid my close friend Ty to rest in South London. It was the hardest day of my life. Hands down. But I’m grateful that I didn’t have to do this on my own.

I did this together with a village, MY village, a family that has adopted, due in no small part to my big bro Ty who connected me with many of them and vouched for me.

Ty, this is hard for me and for so many others who love you. We can’t just get over you and get over your death from this cruel virus that is sweeping the globe. But I know that if you were able to talk to me right now, you’d acknowledge my grief, acknowledge my love for you and tell me to “keep it moving”. I’m trying bro, I’m fucking trying, real hard.

Thank you for reminding me that in order for me to be “a good player” I need to recognise a “good coach”. I’m sad you’re not here to coach me in person, but you are continuing to coach me with the example you lived while you were alive.

I need to go through whatever process that grief is taking me through. Please allow me that. Please. But as I start to heal, I’m going to get busy doubling down on the work you and I spoke about during our last dinner together, the week before lockdown. You called it my “Pursuit of Happiness” project. I remember you nudging me, motivating me to pursue this project…

“Haroon, you’re sitting on a ‘lottery ticket’, the experiences you’ve had…the story you can tell…”

Man…just quoting you reminds me of how you’re able to spit quotable lines the way most people use punctuation.

But yeah, there’s work to be done. Since your transition, we’ve been holding Pass The Torch sessions on Instagram Live where we celebrate your life and try to help each other heal. Your early collaborator Soliheen has featured on there and he said it best…

“It’s on us to amplify Ty’s legacy.”

I’ll do my part.

As you said on your track “Work of Heart”:

“We all return to dust, that’s a must….”

This a painful reality. Made all the more painful when I hear it from you in your voice on one of my favourite songs by you.

No little brother should have to bury their big brother. And as your mother said during your funeral, no mother should have to bury their son.

My time to transition will come too, that’s a must. And when it does, my lips to God’s ears….I’ll have so many stories to tell you..of adventures, of the stages I’ve performed on, of how I brought my “Pursuit of Happiness” story to fruition, of the new family and life I’ll have created. I’ll tell you about your new Godchildren and all the tales I told them about you and how much you would’ve loved them.

I’ll tell you tales of how I did my best to contribute to a brighter tomorrow, of how I did my best to make you proud.

Thank you for teaching me to look Upwards. I’ll forever keep my head held high. Insh’Allah.

In loving memory of Ben(edict) “Ty” Chijioke.

August 17th 1972 – May 7th 2020.

How I Wrestled My Ego to The Mat (And Won)

I cut ALL my hair off. Shaved it to be more precise.

That must sound like the most ordinary thing you’ve read in a world saturated with Internet think pieces. 

Tell anyone who’s known me for a good chunk of my life that I just shaved my head and they’ll choke on their cornflakes.

Let’s jump around coz linear narratives aren’t what I’m here for, not today at least. 

During the Covid-19 crisis, I’ve been sitting here, like many of you watching my bank balance dwindle, with no income in sight. I took a break from that soul-crushing past time to open up my e-mails. I received a message from my hairdresser to say they’re shut until further notice. Problem is, my hair grows faster than a field of weeds drowning in horseshit. 

No one can cut my hair, and even if that weren’t the case, I now can’t afford it.

Let’s jump timelines (again). 

I’m no stranger to shaving my head. I used to shave it during college and the first half of my undergraduate degree. Then I grew it out. All of a sudden, people told me I look great. One cousin told me I look “100 times better”. Women started giving me attention that I wasn’t used to receiving. Shit, even my grades at university improved. 

For the past 15 years I’ve been paid compliments about my hair. I’ve (questionably) attributed my positive turn in life down to having nice hair. 

Hell, even my ex-wife said she wouldn’t have given me a second look with a shaved head (what would that timeline look like???). 

Now, I’m not the most religious Muslim. I have a complicated and tempestuous relationship with my faith. I can (and will) explore that with you another day. However, despite the seesaw relationship I have with Islam, I’m fascinated with it.

There are pilgrimages called Hajj and Umrah, major and minor pilgrimages respectively. Men are required to shave their heads as part of the Hajj and Umrah. To me, it symbolises the shedding of one’s skin, renewal, and rebirth. But also, the humbling of the ego.

The past 3 years as my divorce painfully edged towards the finish line, I’ve known I need to honour this ritual. 

I began reinventing myself ever since I broke up with my ex-wife and filed for divorce. That work has never ended, I now realise it’s a lifelong process. However, my divorce finally came through in late January this year, it took 35 arduous months. When I opened up the e-mail from my solicitor I wept profusely. Tears of gratitude. Tears of joy. I’d kept so much inside and it poured out, literally. But I refused to cut my hair. 

It’s taken a pandemic, isolation, a shortage of eggs (seriously, we’ll revisit my love of eggs again and again) to make me explore my relationship with my ego. 

The Covid-19 crisis has forced me to become more pragmatic. Breakfast is now measured. When I have eggs (they’re worth more than gold bullion right now), I just have one, not two. Like you, no doubt, I’m having to figure out how to make everything last, including money, food and my sanity.

Pragmatism has its place, especially given the constraints that you and I are currently living under. But my ego, that’s something I’ve wrestled with for most of my adult life. The past 3 years I’ve known that shaving my hair off is a necessary and unavoidable spiritual and symbolic step. Yet a combination of fear and my ego has gotten in the way. 

I’ve become attached to the attention my hair has received and started subscribing to the belief that my relative success in life has come down to my hair and me “looking good”. So much so that I’ve become addicted to the validation and I fear that my life may revert back to how it was before, when I shaved my head. 

It’s a limiting belief and the only way I can move forward and live a fuller life, a life that is free from dogma and fear is to kill any such belief. In this instance, it requires me to cut my hair. 

So, I charged up my clippers and hacked away until there was nothing left. It was fun. It was humbling. 






I had to wrestle my ego to the mat. Luckily, I pinned it’s shoulders down for the 3 count.