A New Year’s Poem:
Permanence is not for this body,
Destined to return to dust.
Teach me the word "temporal" instead.
Let it settle in my bones.
So when change crashes like a tide,
My heart will find its home.
You can neither force the sun to rise where it has long set nor can you will a place to remain as it once was.
When a space, a time, or a relationship that once held profound meaning becomes inaccessible—a loss, a shift, a closing of a chapter—what do we do? Do we turn forward, wading into uncharted horizons, trusting in the unknown? Or do we linger in the past, clinging to the hope of a return, yearning for an imagined “beyond heartbreak,” a fixed point in a world of constant flux?
The ache of absence can feel so present that we start envisioning this "beyond" as a destination where pain no longer lingers—a place where we are whole again. But what if that vision is incomplete?
The idea of a "beyond heartbreak"—a place rid of pain—is not only a comforting illusion but an incomplete picture of healing. Healing doesn’t erase the pain; it weaves it into the fabric of who we are, creating a new sense of wholeness, a path forward that holds both beauty and difficulty.
I once spoke of 'holding heartbreak'—the recognition that even as we move forward, the very essence of what we’ve experienced travels with us. Much has happened since then, and as I look back on the journey, I can’t help but think of how often we cling to what was good, hoping the next chapter will mirror its familiar sweetness. We resist releasing parts of the past, fearing we may never feel that depth of connection or joy again, especially when the ache returns, seeping into the cracks we thought were sealed, like tides revisiting the shore.
In times like these, I have learned to see these moments not as setbacks but as invitations—to turn inward, to listen to the whispers of the heart, and to sit still long enough to learn from the spaces we’ve perhaps ignored.
What has also become clear is that contentment rooted in external sources—an idealized "beyond"—will always feel just out of reach. Because along the way, goodness will come glittering with gold and promise. It will dazzle and draw you closer, offering moments of joy, but soon its brilliance will reveal edges one didn’t expect. This new land one assumes they have arrived at is no utopia; it is not rid of pain as one would’ve imagined. And in this way, contentment will continue to remain elusive. Here, I am reminded of a friend who once shared how my words on heartbreak had offered him solace, a reminder that he wasn't alone in his journey. He sent me a photo of a sticky note with my words pinned to his wall—words I had forgotten we exchanged but which became a meaningful rudder in his stormy season of heartbreak and change. It was a quiet reflection of how healing, like tides, can ripple beyond our experience.
What emerges in the silence, particularly as we continue to wrestle with the yearning for a "beyond," is that one learns that there is no distinct "other side" to heartbreak. No clear destination and no door we can close behind us. Heartbreak becomes part of our internal landscape, an imprint that shapes our path. Similarly, permanence and contentment do not revolve around finding something unchanging outside of ourselves but recognizing the enduring presence of abundance within us.
All that feels most tangible in our lives is destined to shift—to return to its origin.
(How) Can you allow the reality of change to settle within, to become a part of your very being? What must settle in your bones?
A personal final note:
After a short writing break, it feels wonderful to return. I’ve spent time reflecting on this space: its evolution, the themes I’ve explored, and the growth I’ve experienced along the way. Much like navigating change and heartbreak, this space has been one of transformation.
When I renamed the substack ‘Nomadic Musings’ I wanted a place where the external nomadic adventures I embarked on could allow me to shed light on my internal wanderings. Not so much about the places I traveled to and what they sparked or revealed, but about the self within the place and the discoveries that were unfolding.
Since then, this space has always been led by a practice of presence and attention, and I hope to continue offering personal reflections that inspire curiosity within you. As I look forward to the year and what is to come, I would love to hear from you:
Which piece has resonated most with you, and why? Did it connect to a personal experience or offer a new perspective?
If you could ask me to explore a specific emotion or experience—grief, joy, uncertainty, or connection—through the lens of introspection, what would it be?
Are there areas where you feel my writing could be clearer or more engaging?
I intend to deepen this space—to share more of what lingers in the quiet places within us. I would love to hear your thoughts. Feel free to leave a comment or reach out privately.
Good to see you're back.
My favorite piece so far has been when you wrote about the Kenya protests last year. Being born in Zimbabwe and living in the diaspora, I understand and resonate with being far from home and seeing the action from a distance.
Also it was beautiful to note that you, and other young people abroad, as I, where interested in what the young people back home where doing to define themselves and their future. Not to say write more about politics lol, but I have a high proclivity for such and I connected deeply.
So maybe, in whatever you're writing, I guess you'll always find atleast one person, hopefully, who resonates like your friend with the sticky note, and that's beautiful especially when writing into the void as we do here on substack.