Ghost Cat
My therapist wants me to try things I could possibly fail at. I want to tell her no. I am currently failing at confronting my fear of failure. One of my many faults. But I did take a big step I was neither mentally nor financially prepared for—a language proficiency exam. $165 poorer and a whole lot more nervous, I am embarking on a quest of preparation for an exam where I could be called a “novice”, a very satisfying “B2”, or “superior.” For me, it’s pressure enough to simply have an unscripted conversation with myself. Mistake upon mistake. Clumsily stringing together nouns and verbs. I’m getting my point across—but not in the best way. To my credit—I’m trying. I’m attempting. I’m failing. But by and by, I’m getting there.
Another prospect—the freelancing gig. One fateful day on LinkedIn I applied to an English-language freelance gig in which I write content for AI. Feels a little bit like the future, right? But I put that I am bilingual in my application. I have learned that it’s productive to apply for the job you are not qualified for, because so often we sell ourselves short. But bilingual is a big ask from someone who barely comprehends the subjunctive tense. Good news/bad news? They want to test me on it. I assume it will function similarly to the English test. I know—I clicked on it. And clicked out. Not today. My brain hurts from my tutoring session. And I don’t want to fail. I so, so don’t want to fail. Because, as my therapist will attest, I tie my self-worth to work. Time and time again, I know not my true value unless I am creating, producing, learning. Who is the real Baylie—the real soul beneath it all? More importantly, what language does she speak? I’m still trying to find out. Once I know more than “right” or “left” from my Russian Siri, who I’ve lovingly dubbed “Sergei”, maybe I will find out more. Am I a dictator, or a romancer? Or are the two even mutually exclusive?
I am in a constant state of learning. Many “I-don’t-knows” and “I-don’t-think-so’s” followed by simple “yeses”. I’m reminded of the concept of a ghost cat. Sometimes I feel like I am constantly trying to take its picture. When in reality, all I need to do is be in the moment with it. Maybe I don’t know who I am, or maybe I have been right on the nose this whole time. I think I should just exist. Breathe amid the chaos. Climb that mountain of things I want to do, starting with taking a language exam. I remember that scene in Pride and Prejudice where she is standing on the cliffs. I do think that is me right now. What might seem like trudging down a muddy dirt road in the rain or going skydiving might actually be dancing down a beaten path of stars, as I learned once how the ancient Egyptians referred to the Milky Way. Maybe I have a distant ancestor who was a little bit like me. Maybe I truly am the first. Either way, I am alone. I don’t think that to be such a bad thing like I did just two months ago. In a way, it has become my calling. I don’t feel so tied to a particular person or place like some people are. I think of myself more as a global citizen than a patriot. But I have ways of connecting far beyond my own upbringing, I have ways of loving far beyond others’ capacity. I have ways of surviving when I am faced with failure or pain. Those are not bad things. If I am alone for the rest of my life, I can know at least that I have been truthful with myself. I have kept the promises I have made to myself. That is an incredible accomplishment.
I think I am reluctantly excited for what is to come. I say I am afraid, but I run towards. The ghost cat is not so much ghost anymore. I put my camera down. Suspira. Respira. Alivio. Treasured, lucky alivio. I am searching for home and I have only found this feeling. I can’t describe it yet in English—maybe someday. I think perhaps it doesn’t belong here—deported long ago. I chase it down and hold it in my arms. Jacob wrestling with God. The bird fighting its way out of the egg. What is left? Only that feeling. That precious, safe wonder.