What Is The Opposite Of FOMO?
I don't know that I've ever dealt with as much anxiety or panic as I did in 2019, and I realise that it was because, when confronted with fear, instead of introspecting and shrinking back, I pushed through it. In that place, I did things I once considered big and scary. Heard Him say, “jump” and jumped into oceans I'd have wanted to first test with my toes. Maybe go knee deep then turn back, but no, not anymore. I chose to live by Joshua 1, and indeed He constantly had to say, “Do not be afraid, I am with you”.
Recently, I felt crippled again by something and, instead of writing about it or thinking about it, I chose to face it. Facing things hasn't brought my preferred results in every instance but each time it's given me more than I'd have had if I hadn't pushed through. It has taught me things. Showed me what I want. What I don't. Who I am. Who God is. What He wants. What He doesn’t.
I’ve had many tell me how bold I am, but I know that what looks like boldness only looks so because they don't see the backend of 3 am panic attacks and hurried messages to DT or B saying, “Pray for me. I feel such intense pain or fear.”
August
My brother-friend Sunesis and I co-curate ‘Chaos and Creation’, a charity fundraising exhibition, then I immediately move on to the next project. It’s late August to early September, and by Day 5 on the road, J and I ask each other repeatedly, “What day is it?” “What's today's date?” We forget which city we woke up in or where we're going next. It's tasking and exhilarating. This project. And crazy that I'm taking on so much in the last 21 days before I leave for school. But it's exactly what I want to do, and I'm constantly grateful to God for the grace to do it.
When He gave me the idea for the project, it was a sudden yet complete download, and it came with the names of those to work with. So, when I pitched it to the client, reached out to the team members and found that they all loved the idea, I thought, awesome. On the road, I came to understand why it had to be that team. In every city we worked, even the unplanned, at least one person had knowledge of where to go, what to do, could speak the language. It took team members back to places they hadn't visited in years, some in decades. And seeing how deliberate God was in making our way smooth was perhaps the greatest gift of all. Of course, He makes our way smooth but Nigerian roads and air travels are anything but. Flight delays are constant and when we’re on the road potholes yawn across the country, causing the drivers to weave. Over the weeks we have two accidents that, thankfully, leave us unhurt.
On the way from Aba to Port Harcourt by road because of an airport closure, it’s late evening and we can’t find a private cab to take us. I sit in the back of the bus with J, our equipment and luggage on the seat between us because we've paid for extra space. “Driver. Driver,” passengers call out intermittently when he speeds. I spend the time in the back, praying under my breath. It's the one thing that keeps my heart off anxiety and on God. I am thinking about how thankful I am for work that stretches my capacity and comfort, for the coming days and the newness they promise.
In many states, we stick out in the way that people not native to a place stick out. We cover 12 states in 3 weeks. Well, 15 days, because, each week, we return to Lagos for the weekend. The first, I spend packing up the apartment I've lived in for the past 18 months. The second, I spend with my parents. By the third, fieldwork is over and I leave the country for Spain, grad school, and my new life.
When it’s over, Lagos tries to trap me. That’s how I explain how hectic things get the last couple of days. Then, after 4 hours in traffic to get to the airport on a rainy Saturday, the city sends me off with 5 minutes to spare before the gate closes. When I finally board, I am glad to be free of Lagos for a while. Grateful to God who marvellously helps me all the time. And longing desperately for rest the next few days.
September
I arrive two weeks before classes start, so I go to museums and wander about cities. One day, P and I have left Madrid for El Escorial and when we get off the train, famished, we walk to a restaurant. It is posh, and a dozen eyes turn to us when we come in and they stay on us till we are led to our table.
P says, “Everyone is staring.”
“That won’t stop me from having a good lunch,” I tell her.
We struggle to translate the menu for about ten minutes. Google translate, usually useful, is slow and unhelpful in the face of dozens of options. When four people walk in and sit at the next table, P says to me, “They're speaking English.” She’s right, they’re switching fluently between English and Spanish, so I walk to them and ask if they can translate. They gladly do.
October
When I start walking through stations mindlessly, no longer stopping to read signs to confirm I'm going to the right tracks, I know I have settled into the city. There's always chatter on the train and I listen till it all blends into nothing, my ears picking sound, brain not understanding, mind letting go. Still, I prefer this, somehow, to music. As if by listening enough, I'll make sense of the words rapidly flowing out of mouths.
I start Spanish classes alongside the other courses I’m taking. Assignments and readings pile; deadlines run into one another. I go to school and I go home. That’s my life. My friends, Y & S, have opened their home to me while they prepare to move countries, and I am grateful for the support, love, and homecooked meals. Sometimes, a neighbour looks at me like they know me, so I say “¡Hola!”, and they invariably speak rapidly in Spanish, the only word I catch, ‘niños’, so I know they think I'm Y and they’re asking about the boys. I say “Muy bien”, or “a la escuela” if it is during school hours. I get by.
November
I have no desire to do any of the extra-curricular activities scheduled—not the parties or dinners. Earlier in the semester, I went for a school cocktail and spent the night in a corner, first chatting with A, who told me about her home in Russia and her new life here, and then reading the CS Lewis book I'd taken with me. Desperate to avoid people-ing.
I become obsessed with long-form articles about people. I read them on the train, between classes, when I need a brief reprieve from whatever academic paper I'm writing, video I’m conceptualising/shooting, or text I'm reading. I read, I write, I work on projects for school and projects for clients. I want nothing else but sleep. I realise, as December comes and it gets colder, than winter has stealthily stolen my joy and even my appetite for food. Everything makes me tired and teary, and I know that I need to get out more, find the sun when it’s out, and soak it up more.
December
When school is out for the semester, I move into my own apartment. I wait for the sun and take long walks when it shows up. I go to Toledo, to Torrejón, to El Escorial again. I walk a lot. I take wild, dizzying rides in parks. I sit on swings. I zip line. I wake myself up and promise my heart the cold won’t make us slide back to dark places. I spend more time with God and reflect on how blessed I’ve been with my family and friends in the past months. I start reading for the next semester. I work on outstanding projects. And I think a lot about choosing what success means to me and shaping my life towards that, about facing fears, and about how the year has seemed like 3, with as much pain and progress.
I learn, in this time, that faith is everything. Let's stretch if we can or shrink if we must. But let us know what we have for today—fears, strengths, people, and all—that we may understand and seek what we need for tomorrow.
P.S. In this video, I talk about peace in the pain of the process.