I’ve always had a problem with authority. Most kids don’t like being told what to do, but growing up, some of the headbutting that went on between my parents and I was properly intense.
I’m sure they thought they were helping in their own way, though they certainly made no apologies. Perhaps I’m exaggerating, but blackmail often seemed a common tactic whenever they wanted me to do something, or failing that, threats. I learnt that asking for anything usually meant becoming indebted somehow and that I’d owe them back later in an unknown way. Trying to do things on my own wasn’t any easier either when it felt like they were looking over my shoulder all the time. I learned not to express my interests, lest they be something that either one of them might disapprove of.
Yet in spite of this, I still found ways to preserve my independence. I was cautious. I learned to always stay on my toes. I kept my guard up and learned to find what I needed. By my late teens, I’d got pretty damn good at it.
So, one night, I packed what I could carry, wrote a note, and left. I still remember how hard my heart was pounding when I snuck down those stairs. I didn’t have time to think about the threshold I was crossing though. All my planning had been for this, and I was focussed on getting it right. But still, I would be on my own from here. That’s what I was signing up for.
As blurry as they are and not something I care to remember, those first few weeks were hard. I drifted, stretched what little money I had to the limit, slept rough, went without, and resorted a handful of things I’m not proud off. Eventually though, I was able to find odd jobs here and there to help me scrape by. I knew that I’d need people’s help, yet reaching out was not an easy thing to do. Showing my value proved to be the best strategy.
Tough as it was though, part of me felt happy. For the first time in my life, I was my own boss. I made my own choices and answered only to myself. Sure, it was on rough terms, but they were the ones that I’d chosen. No coercion, no disapproval, no judgement.
Admittedly, there were times when I questioned why I’d done this and if it’d been worth it. Why had I been so determined to obtain my freedom that I’d willingly given up everything else?
My parents had worked in finance. They’d always made a fuss about earning, saving, and investing. For me though, what I chose to do was always more important than what I earned from it. Still, hostile as I’d been toward their attitude, I had to admit they’d been right about goal setting. What was I hoping to achieve here and now?
As the weeks continued to pass and I drifted from town to town, I eventually found my way to a coastal village. It was there that my most promising opportunity yet came up, a fortnight-long stint on a fishing boat. I had somewhere to stay, and the sea air and ever-persistent fishy smell meant that the fact I’d not washed in a while was largely irrelevant.
The job was physically taxing, and my legs and stomach had had a rough time adjusting as well, but the shared company made up for this. It was uplifting to feel that myself and others were quite literally all in the same boat. They’d been truly amazed when I’d opened up about where I’d come from, having taken their time to accept the out-of-place city kid at first, but afterwards, it seemed that this, along with my willingness to get my hands dirty, had ultimately earned their respect.
Captain Hobbs in particular was a man I’d grown to find a special respect for. He’d been reluctant to take me on at first, yet my determination had seemingly been what had won him over back at the beginning. At night he often told stories with a vigour that hushed others’ voices and widened their eyes. He spoke of the storms he’d weathered like foes he’d faced down. He’d always know that he could have chosen to stay on land where it was safer, yet he’d done this because it was a choice he’d had.
On getting back to dry land, my earnings had been easily enough to buy me some much-welcomed comforts before I inevitably moved on yet again. After the week I’d just had, a hot shower and some clean clothes truly felt like a drink in the desert.
It wasn’t until I’d stepped off the train at the end of the following day and settled into a hotel that I felt like being generous with myself. Sure, I’d survived this long by being frugal and resourceful, but on this occasion, I felt I could take a risk or two.
I remember the girl sitting at the bar downstairs immediately catching my attention with her tattoo collection. I don’t know why I found myself speaking to her without hesitation. I guess I’d started to get the hang of doing the opposite of what my long-ingrained instincts would tell me to.
Her name was Iris, and it hadn’t taken her long to open up about her passion for salsa dancing. When she’d got to asking about me and I’d shared my own story, she seemed almost amazed, yet after learning that our journey’s were taking us in different directions, we maligned the fact that we’d likely never see each other again. Our encounter ended with her giving me a dancing lesson. I think that was when I began to properly start thinking about what my mission was.
I don’t know how many weeks later it was, but by this point I’d found myself working as a farmhand. The farmer, Mr Anderson, had been grateful to have me, especially as this had been the first season in some time that he’d been able to afford to hire help. After years of drought, his fortunes had recently turned. Frustrating as his accounts of the struggles he’d weathered were, the way he spoke of his experiences seemed carry a patience and humility to it. No matter how long it had taken, he’d always held out hope that Huey would come through for him; ‘Huey’ being a name he’d said many farmers have for whoever the bloke up there is who sends the rain down.
Eventually there came a night whilst out in the forest where myself and a group of woodsmen I’d been working with were attacked by a boar. Fending off the animal and attending to the gashed side of one of my colleagues all seemed to happen rapidly, yet afterwards when I was being praised for my actions, only then did I feel amazed at myself. It was as if I’d just focused, and from there, what needed doing took care of itself. I guess the first aid skills I’d learned back on that fishing trip and the animal handling practice from Anderson’s farm had come in handy.
Still, the experience shook me. I couldn’t help but question how long I’d keep wandering whilst making do with what I could find to get by on. This hadn’t been the first time something like this had happed either. Near the beginning I’d nearly been knifed on a few occasions as well.
Everywhere that I’d travelled up to this point had seen me meeting new people and learning new skills and insights from them. I’d not just learnt how to look after myself though, I’d learned how to enjoy myself too. As much as I could have had a very different life had I simply staying home and gone to university to learn economics like my parents wanted, I’d found the education I’d got from simply traveling and doing stuff to be much more rewarding.
There were so many things I knew how to build or fix. I knew how to care for others, how to treat injuries, how to cook, how to defend myself, but also, how to dance, play music, paint, and most importantly, take in a good story. Everyone I met had one, which they usually shared over some task that’d brought us together.
Eventually though, I realised that I couldn’t live this life forever. Finding my niche would mean I’d have to stop running and claim the person I wanted to be. It was only when I’d returned to the city and began to formalise a few things that I felt my options begin to widen yet further.
I kept working, I saved, I found a long-term place to live, and I eventually enrolled in university, not in economics but in education. With everything I’d learned in my travels, I’d begun to realise that what I’d really been yearning for was to be able to share and pass my experience on. It wasn’t easy to adapt to the new routine of studying, assignments, and exams, but whenever I had doubts, I told myself that I’d chosen to do this for my own reasons.
The most rewarding thing about the years I spent studying were the many tutoring jobs I worked throughout. Whether it was English, music, history, or any number of other subjects, I had a way to mentor others and give them the skills and insights I was so grateful to have.
As the years passed, this was what I found myself keeping to; never having one single job while finding myself doing something different every day of the week. I ran classes in painting and dance, held workshops for creative writing and drama, gave private music lessons for multiple different instruments, and all throughout this time, stayed true to my purpose.
This was the life I’d always been chasing; someone who lived freely and authentically while helping to enrich the lives of others. I’d become the person I wanted to be, who did things on their own terms, for their own reasons, and of their own choosing.
Benjamin Kirkby 