Permission To Walk

Growing up I was quite a serious little girl, shy, reserved. Plump, spotty and dramatically unsporty in my very sporty family. But that made me deeply observant and deeply reflective. And so I watched life from the wings. I lived in my head with my own quiet thoughts. Not really knowing where I belonged.

But then becoming a political activist in my 20s and 30s gave me a deep calling to make a difference. And that changed the shape of my life. It changed how I showed up as an entrepreneur in my 40s and 50s, as a more collaborative leader focused on making a difference, rather than making money.

But I always battled impostor syndrome. I had become an entrepreneur by default, rather than by design, to support my husband's dream. On the surface it all looked quite glamorous, winning awards. But underneath I still battled the demons of a fragile sense of self.

Then in my 60's I stepped into a deeper realm of speaking and writing. Becoming a vulnerable storyteller I started to feel whole. It felt aligned. Truthful. Searingly honest.

But through it all, my work ethic gave me validity. It gave me purpose and meaning. It gave me a sense of why I came to earth in this shape and form.

Telling my story in my 60s helped me shed some of the shame I had carried for 30 years around some devastating mistakes I had made when I was younger.

Shedding the shame meant taking radical responsibility for walking through the shame in order to live in greater courage. Shame had kept me trapped for most of my life.

And so I buried my shame with work.

My father had been a humanitarian his whole life. A successful and extremely driven entrepreneur. He used his time on earth to help many people. Much of it unseen.

At his memorial, his best friend and business partner, Dharfeur Hendricks, said there was so much that nobody knew about. He put disadvantaged students through university. He helped talented sportsmen and women from impoverished backgrounds to fulfil their rightful place in a divided world. He helped countless people that no one ever heard about.

There was nothing flashy about him. In fact, when he drove his 22 year old blue bakkie down to the shopping centre, he knew the car guards by name and he would ask them about their families.

He was a visible voice in the fight against Apartheid at a time when it was not popular to take a stand. But he did. Maybe my work ethic was driven by his example.

But then my calling became an obsession and I drove myself even harder. Working relentlessly, days and nights. Weekends started blurring into a neverending to-do list and constant deadlines.

I really wanted to make my humble little start - up not a "success", but an incubator for significance.

But then I started drowning. I started losing my joy. I became brittle and exhausted, still driving. But no longer seeing the scenery. Just clinging to the steering wheel, willing this little car to somehow gain momentum.

Then the brittleness cracked open to reveal the brutal underbelly of the monster I had created.

A dear friend said to me "What on earth is driving you Ali? I see no joy in you anymore. Where is that old Ali we used to love and laugh with?"

I realised that it was new demons in different clothes driving me. To drive. A desperate need to fit in. To feel worthy. To somehow belong.

Today I started to live differently.

I went to Pilates early, then I went to the gym, did some leisurely weights, did some meditative swimming.

And I left my phone at home by accident. No calls, no messages. It was quiet.

And it was finally quieter in my head.

Permission to breathe.

Permission to move more slowly.

Unhurried.

Unheard of.

No deadlines.

No to-do lists.

No team tasks.

Just a blank slate of a new beginning.

I stepped into a different form of courage.

Permission to do things my relentless work had blocked.

Had buried.

Had stifled.

Had strangled.

I looked at the herb and veggie garden I had started creating.

But now it was not hurried.

It would happen in time.

I had learnt to speak more slowly as a speaker. But not to live more slowly.

Today felt different.

It was slow.

It was kind.

My joy started to return, looking at my roses, cuddling with my dogs.

In a world at war, sometimes we are the ones at war with ourselves, driving ourselves to dig deeper, no matter the cost. No matter the bruising, crushing obvious reality, so clear to everyone else.

Sometimes the destination is not the one you planned.

Sometimes it's permission to take the back roads. To meander without a crushing GPS - a Gruelling Productivity System, a vehicle that becomes a way of life.

Are you driving in joy and celebration?

Or is something deeper driving you?

Because only you can stop the car.

To find a different way.

It starts with the permission to take your foot off the pedal.

So you can finally see with crystal clarity the vehicle that is driving you. The one you created. The one you thought would make you feel safe, but it became a prison.

It is time to walk again.