Marcus J Freed

Moving story about finding my hidden mango juice

Thursday 31st 2011f March 2011

Squinting MY eyes open on Sunday morning, all I could see was the russet brown of a tower of cardboard boxes. Then, once up, there was the scramble to select shoes and clothing from scattered suitcases, hopscotching across the floor to avoid stubbing my toes.

Of course the one item I wanted to wear remained elusive, yet I stubbornly pursued it, inside bin bags, across hallways and over wobbly skyscrapers of stuff. The misery of finally accepting I would need to wear a mishmash of old clothes was topped off by breakfast: a saga of missing cutlery that culminated in me staring longingly at a bowl of cereal with no spoon to assist me.

Not being able to find something has always been a panic trigger for me. Just an inkling that I may not be able to find what I require sends me into a spin and into the regressed state of surly toddler. At this point a calm adult usually steps in and finds what I am looking for within seconds. It’s laughable and silly but it is also deeply significant that losing things should affect us so strongly; and moving house is the ultimate exercise in losing our bearings.

It many ways it is good to keep mixing things up a little. I remember when I was working at an investment bank, each day was very similar to the last. There was a strangely hypnotic combination of grey monotonous surroundings and all needs catered for; drinks, food, gym, health insurance. It was at once enticing and repellent. I felt it was a place where it would be easy to lose oneself, to get too comfortable. So I made a point of using a different shower cubicle in the gym each day and taking a new route to a different place each lunchtime; sometimes passing an acting workshop, sometimes a walk by the river.

Occasionally making it across the bridge to the Tate Modern to glimpse one or two paintings. I needed to keep introducing change in order – as the Sufi poet Rumi reminds us, not to go back to sleep. "The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you. Don't go back to sleep. You must ask for what you really want. Don't go back to sleep." But what happens when there is a lot of change at once? Just lately we have changed our car and our house. It has been an excellent exercise in letting go, for me, a serial hoarder. Even letting go of items you love, but no longer serve you; like our three-door Fiat 500 that our family is growing out of has been less painful than I thought. I realise it comes back to trust and making space for all the good things that are out there, instead of clinging to what you know. Behind this attachment is the underlying belief that what you have, the status quo, is the best you can get.

My husband has been a great teacher in staying in the flow of life and expecting ease and good fortune. This is exemplified by his annoying but inspirational habit of questioning flight attendants when the drinks trolley comes round. The conversation usually goes something along the lines of: drinks are offered by the flight attendant, my husband asks what drinks there are (orange juice, lemonade, coke) and then selects something not listed (mango juice). The attendant looks for this item and either miraculously finds it or repeats the list again (while I sigh, embarrassed in the background and other passengers clear their parched throats).

It's a great metaphor for the belief that there is something better, hiding there, that you just need to tease it out. That you should pursue what you really want, rather than politely accept what is offered, in the take-what-you're given British way.

It has been tricky having an adventurer's heart and the disposition of a doormat, but I am starting to get it. Even when everything is scrambled randomly around our new house.
All these things we thought we needed, we really don't. And when we let go of them, that's when the mango juice in the hidden drawer reveals itself. Learning to trust in God is a hard thing to do when you have experienced great loss; like the loss of my mother and the world can become a more unpredictable and fearful place. I am loathe to trust God again.
But the great river of adventure beckons, and I might just have to dip my toe in.


All the best.