Surrender to love and happiness

Being coupled doesn't necessarily have to imply losing my individuality. It is about surrendering, instead, learning to accommodate another person and trust that he or she or they can serve as a partner. Representation pic/Getty Images

On the last night of my travel, as I was asleep in my bedroom in Goa, I had an unusual dream. Its content was in keeping with the generic narrative that my subconscious concocted since my formative days for dealing with stress. Because of my childhood fear of Marathi and Math, two subjects at which I was never particularly adept, whenever I have the pressure of delivering an assignment, I am reacquainted with the recurring dream in which I am suddenly back in school and find myself unexpectedly having to give an exam in either subject.

It's always an event that catches me unaware. I experience palpitations, alongside a sense of dread of the consequences of my inevitable failure. I actually did flunk Math once in Std VI. I almost flunked Marathi several times. The legitimate fear of both subjects persists. In my adulthood, however, it is more representative of a symbolic fear of failure, where I am so paralysed by anxiety that I procrastinate until it is too late.

On Tuesday night, perhaps because I was the happiest I've ever been, the plot line of the usual narrative transformed itself completely. For a change, my subconscious was aware of the impending examination. In my dreams I found that I was preparing myself emotionally. I was a woman with a plan. I had found a way to organise myself, to deal with the subjects head-on and not passive aggressively, like an escapist. I had decided that I wouldn't be defeated by my fears. I would conquer. I wouldn't just pass. I would triumph. When I awoke, I felt an afterglow that manifested itself as an ego boost. I saw myself on a precipice, and before me was the dreaded, uncertain, unknown. Except, I didn't seem daunted like I usually am. If I jumped, I was sure that instead of falling, I would fly.

My life is undoubtedly not monotonous or routine. I travel a lot for someone who is frequently broke. Since my book was published, I have been invited to countless places. My art criticism has offered opportunities I never imagined possible. And yet, whether I was conscious of it or not, I had settled for the lure of a certain kind of inertia. I allowed myself to drift along. I have been completely aware of all the potential nestled in my intellect, but because I have been functioning from a space of frequent self-doubt, I often restrained myself from plunging. I have been a passive recipient of all that the universe has thrown my way. I haven't actively pursued all that I am capable of, all that my achievements could have merited.

I have been floating through life these last 10 years, believing that I was steering a clear path, when instead I have been charting known waters, safety net in tow. At 33, for the first time in my life, I feel bold enough to demand that the horizon be brought to me instead of my ambling towards it. I am finally convinced it can be within my grasp and my reach. It isn't that I know exactly how my life will unfurl over the next few months. I cannot yet make concrete plans because my fate still rests in the hands of others. But where before I had committed to a life as a single, independent woman, I suddenly have glaring before me the option of imagining a totally different kind of life, one in which I am coupled, one in which I can even dare to think of motherhood, a vocation I was sure wasn't my calling because, despite feeling confident about possessing the instincts, I had yet to feel the impulse. I still don't.

The man with whom I am coupled told me the other evening that there is no such thing as the perfect timing for children. I found myself disagreeing. I have always known what I have wanted from life, and I always imagined my legacy to be literary. I cannot confidently say that stance has changed, but I am more open today than ever before about embracing the uncertainty of my own future, which means accommodating all the many permutations and combinations it can assume.

The shift is a notional one. It has been in learning that being coupled doesn't necessarily have to imply losing my individuality, or my personal sense of purpose, or reneging on my commitment to my literary ambitions. It is about surrendering, instead, learning to accommodate another person and trust that he or she or they can serve as a partner. I've never had a problem loving someone. What I'm learning is how to allow myself to be loved by another. It is, I think, an act of rebellion and risk. As women we've been stuck for so long wondering whether we can have it all. As I free-fall, I'm focusing my attentions on the specificities embedded in this ambiguous 'all'.

Deliberating on the life and times of Everywoman, Rosalyn D'Mello is a reputable art critic and the author of A Handbook For My Lover. She tweets @RosaParx Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com

Catch up on all the latest Crime, National, International and Hatke news here. Also download the new mid-day Android and iOS apps to get latest updates