Inside a Wandering Mind.

Thoughts on sonder, becoming more self-aware and adulthood.

Sketch by the author ©

I

I often think about other people and the lives they lead: the baker down the street, the kind pharmacist who attended to me the other day, the conductor hanging onto a yellow Lagos bus.

What are their fears, regrets, desires…?

Question: do our meandering lives converge, diverge and then converge again to meet in one place?

See, in my head, it’s like a fusion of colours that mix and match. Unchanged yet entirely changed. We do not remain the same after crossing paths.

The unofficial word for this is sonder, defined as the profound feeling of realising that everyone, including strangers passing in the street, has a life as complex as one's own.

As children, we were unaware of this. A term referred to as object permanence, it’s the understanding that items still exist even when you can’t see or hear them.

So do people.

Long after we’ve passed by that stranger that accidentally bumped into us and apologies were (or were not) muttered, they’ve returned to their reality, our walking worlds colliding with one another.

Another question: how old were you when you realised this?

We’re entangled, you see.

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II

Earlier last year, I switched career paths. “You’re so brave,” everyone says, yet I don’t think I am. Not always. What I am, however, is aware of what lights up my soul, what dampens it, and how infinitesimal our existence is in the grand scheme of things.

That’s why I find self-awareness necessary.

It’s how we realise the source of our startling envy toward a friend or why we picked the blue shirt instead of the red.

It’s how we understand why we continue to stay in dead-end relationships or why we procrastinate.

It’s how we recognise our inherent biases.

I stumbled on these words by poet Rumi and can’t un-think it: “And you? When will you begin that long journey into yourself?”

Another question: is self a home?

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III

No matter how long I’ve been one, I remain shocked at how being an adult is the gift that keeps giving, perhaps sometimes taking more than it should.

With it, I’ve also realised three important things.

One, The Designated Adults (DA) don’t know it all. It’s all fun and games till the garage lightbulb won’t come on, the kitchen pipes burst, and the car won’t start, and you look around for the DA. Then you realise it’s you.

Two, many of us are just trying our best; we don’t have it figured out. Our decisions aren’t always logical. We’re not infallible.

A daunting reality but also a freeing one. It’s allowed me to give others, and myself by extension, some grace.

Three, things don’t just come to be. When you lay in bed at night, comforted as you snuggle in further, remember that piece of furniture was made by someone(s) clearly skilled at their craft. People make things but more importantly choose to make those things stay that way.

I’ve come to appreciate the connectedness of us all.

I have a renewed appreciation for every occupation that makes the world go round, especially those often underlooked, the unsung heroes.

We’re not here only to be served but to serve as well.

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Today’s post was more nomadic and philosophical, an expansion of my private journals. Please let me know your thoughts, as I can be a tad wary of sharing them.