The Deep End
I am a year older today. For many reasons, I am filled with gratitude. The last year has been tough, on a general level, as we have all tried to adapt to the new world forced upon us by COVID-19. On a personal level, I have lived through multiple events and transitions, with their attendant highs and lows. At the risk of sliding into cliché, while I’m not where I want to be yet, I am certainly not where I begun.
Birthdays have always been more reflective than celebratory for me, perhaps a function of my temperament more than anything else. This one, however, has a slightly different feel to it, more David Guetta than James Arthur… I feel really lucky — blessed — to be alive. I have an amazing, loving and supportive family. I have the best and most dependable friends. Indeed, I have been very lucky to have met the most amazing people and the fact that they think me worthy of their friendship and affection continues to puzzle me. I am also doing work that, in its own small way, has an impact on the world. And the firm knowledge that only more can be done is both reinforcing and empowering. Each year builds on the experiences of the preceding years, and while there are few blank slates, there is always room for new beginnings.
Still, life doesn’t come without its challenges. Some days ago, my godfather, the great Prof. (Emeritus) Samuel Nwabufo Okiwelu passed on. S.N. Okiwelu, as he was mostly addressed, was a man of many parts and while he was renowned for his many academic achievements, my earliest memories of him were when I was little more than an infant. Every year, at Christmas, he would bring a can of Danish Cookies to our house in Port Harcourt, ostensibly because of me, his godson. This remained a constant feature throughout my early years and even as I grew into a young adult, he would constantly ask about my progress, through my father. That was a defining feature of the man: consistency and a strong, unwavering character. Prof. (Emeritus) Okiwelu always showed my family love and care, even when he did not have to. He treated the Akakuru mini-clan as his family and he was family to us, as well. I am glad that we got to share what turned out to be his last birthday celebration with him, last year.
There is an odd finality to death, I think. It does not matter the nature of the circumstances in which it comes, it feels like a part of you has been uprooted. Maybe it is the many fond memories or the familiarity that creates a gaping hole. Death often comes as a jolting shock. Still, there is comfort in knowing that the one who has passed lived a good and impactful life.
If the years we live are like a swimming pool, I would like to think I am now in the deep end. And the learnings from the time in the shallow end, while useful, are not always sufficient. There is the challenge that comes with each day, to resist inertia, push through and break new ground. New ground isn’t always fanciful or prestigious. It is sometimes quiet, plain and steady. I am okay with that. I’m confident in the path ahead. When the bell tolls, like Frank Sinatra, I hope to be able to sing that I traveled each and every highway and more, much more, I did it my way.
I am hopeful for the new year. I look forward to the many pieces coming together, a little bit more. I expect to invest more in my relationships with myself, family, friends and colleagues. I am excited by the opportunity to keep on growing, both personally and professionally, work on impactful projects and help others along their paths to themselves. Perhaps, somewhere along the line, that would inspire my little sister to always keep pushing and be the best she can be. Because, that is what matters.
