Commitments and the race of life

7 Dec

Race of Life

What does karting have to do with commitment?

This evening I cracked open a bottle of JC Le Roux. Not because my standards have sunk that low (though it will be the second bottle of JC I’ve imbibed this week, after Tuesday’s hideously overpriced lunch for my mother’s birthday  at Saddle Creek – don’t book the mid week special. It’s special, but not for the reason you’d assume) but because it was the only white wine I could find in the house, and on a Friday, you need wine.

The bottle bears the labels of “2nd Prize” and “Race of Life”. I won it during a Liberty blogger day, in which we were required to drive around Kyalami in karts. Insurers should know that I am definitely a safe driver, because I don’t speed. I was the slowest driver by some way, ended up retiring in a foul mood, and only won second prize because my partner, the chain-smoking actuary who is the head of risk, was the fastest driver.

So where does the commitment come in?

Well, in the background of this photo is the land where I may or may not do something that runs counter to every commitmentphobic fibre of my being, and build a house. Not a big house, mind you, because I couldn’t possibly afford such a thing. A small one, but beautiful, and mine. A place I can call my own after years of living as a bywoner and feeling like a loser as a result.

The question of whether I build a house is up in the air, like almost every aspect of my life right now. This is partly why I can’t commit myself to a car, because if I’m going to be building, I’ll need a car able to transport tiles or toilets – but if I don’t, I won’t.

I’ve undertaken a major renovation with my ex-husband and though I was shielded from the most painful parts of it, I know how frustrating and expensive building can be. So I’m hesitant. Do I really want to sacrifice my freedom? Commit myself to owning property in Johannesburg, notorious for its billing nightmares?

Do I really want to take on all of this to compensate for my rootlessness and nagging sense of having sidestepped my obligations to society? If I knew, I’d tell you.


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