It’s a funny thing, pride. If you’re honest, you live with yours and try not to let it grate on or bore others. But occasionally you get a twinge over the oddest things. Yesterday I returned from my fruitless expedition to Brighton to find that my ‘For Sale’ sign had gone up. Which really did produce mixed emotions and prideful twinges. It really is as if that by selling the house and in the process removing seventy percent of my debt, I am admitting failure in my quest for a city job where my skills would finally be acknowledged by virtue of me getting the job in the first place.
Strange. I am impendingly homeless and downscaling my job search with relief as I can look to get a job locally and/or move to a location near my new place of work, thus freeing my time to balance a job with my decision to turn this financial catastrophe into an opportunity to live well and write, which is what I have wanted to do for decades but time, (ex)wife and cowardice prevented me.
Yet in a dark corner of my psyche, there is something weeping gently over my percieved failure. That came as a surprise, and leads me into more areas of me to explore. Yet another corner of me hidden so deep that it did not even have a ‘Here be Dragons’ notation on my map of self.
A beneficial discovery or a deep-seated flaw revealed? Unfortunately, only time will tell.