A footprint in the sands of time

Isn’t it interesting that the first post on this blog is a letter from my 21year old self to my younger self? What did I even know then? I should probably write a response to that letter as my older self. Maybe I will.

I have been reading Biko Zulu’s blog for ages. I enjoy his reading and in one of his recent pieces I found it so vulnerable and deep. I loved that. I felt inspired to do the same seeing as I borrowed a lot of my writing inspiration from him. Recently, I saw an interview of a friend of mine on the YouTube channel ‘Dating Stories’ and her vulnerability when telling her story was something to behold.

I have come to realise that I may have to take some of the advice I dish to authors and be vulnerable once in a while. I am not saying I can be fully that person, because I know I can’t. Heck, I became a spectator on social media because otherwise would mean constant engagement as a person and I just can’t have that. I really thrive and find comfort in my anonymity – if I can call it that.

Anyway, this post will have random paragraphs, but I hope by the end of it you will know what point I am driving at – if at all there will be one.

Recently, an older colleague told me, “Crisis breeds creativity, opportunity, and clarity.” That phrase stuck with me.

It is a common saying that you shouldn’t burn bridges. But can you really burn an already burning bridge? And maybe, sometimes, it’s okay to burn a bridge—especially if it’s unstable. Burn it to the ground, then start building a stronger one. My thoughts.

The other day, I was having dinner with one of my oldest and closest friends, and we had one of those deep conversations about how far we’ve come. We met as teenagers, and years later, we’ve achieved beyond what we even imagined possible. One conversation that stuck with me was around the idea that you “reap what you sow, not where you sow.” We often expect to harvest in the same place we planted, but life doesn’t always work that way. The effort you put in will yield results, but not always when or where you expect. That doesn’t mean you don’t tend to what you’ve sown, it just means being open to receiving from places you never imagined.

A decision is never just about one thing. It’s a series of events that eventually reach a breaking point. For instance, a dam doesn’t explode in a day, the pressure builds over time until it finally spills over. For over a year, the thought of resigning from my job lingered, a whisper that grew louder with each passing day. The stagnation gnawed at the edges of what once felt like boundless ambition. Somewhere along the way, the spark dimmed. The familiar rhythm of success began to feel hollow, and a quiet voice inside me kept asking, “What’s next?”. Leaving my job isn’t just about walking away from a pay check or a title. It’s about shedding an identity and stepping into the unknown. I know for a fact that there will be moments of doubt, days when I’ll question everything, and nights when the silence will be deafening. But I also know there will be moments of clarity, joy, and discovery. And in those moments, I’ll find pieces of myself I may not have realized were missing.

A while back, I was talking to a friend, now former colleague, and he told me something that has stuck with me. For context, I may need to rewind a little. Years ago, while out in the field, we had a random conversation with him about finances. I suggested investing in money markets or bonds, just a passing thought. Fast forward to now, and he told me, “If it was not for you, I would never have invested.” He has since used the interest earned to pay school fees for his kids. I was genuinely shocked because that conversation happened almost three years ago. And yet, he remembered. In his words, “Time tumekua na wewe, mimi I can tell a difference in my life. Na sio tu financially. Kuna vitu wewe husema na ni kama hufikiri, but mimi huskia.” I left a footprint. I’m not saying this to chest-thump. I’m saying this because, for years, my biggest fear has been being forgotten, just being a blip in time. But I’ve left a mark. I am no longer worried.

There’s a song by Beyoncé, I Was Here. It starts with a strong line ‘I want to leave my footprints on the sands of time.’

But it’s the second stanza that really speaks to me at the moment,

‘I wanna say I lived each day, until I died

I know that I had something in somebody’s life

The hearts I have touched, will be the proof that I leave

That I made a difference and this world will see

I was here…’

More often than not, we hold on to moments, situations, and even people out of fear – fear that if we let go, we will fade from memory, fade into nothing. And that’s not to say it’s wrong. We are human, and experiencing emotions is part of the deal.

I am stepping into a moment of transition, not only in my career but also in my personal life. And for the first time, I am looking forward to it.

I’m not even writing this as an explanation, or for consolation, or any other reason you may come up with. I’m writing it just because.