I am fortunate enough to be in the coastal town of Hermanus this month, the best place for land based whale watching anywhere in the world. As a seasonally bound tourist destination, Hermanus is not short on people and businesses trying to make a quick bob or two whilst the weather is half-decent and the whales are half-visible from the rocky coastal area overlooking the deep blue.

In the couple of days I have been here, I have become acutely aware that the forces and people behind this micro-economy appeals to something that is deeply ingrained in all of us who have grown up capitalist and privileged: our freedom of choice. Having seen this on a smaller scale whilst browsing the small stalls of the street vendors or enjoying some of the fine coffees on offer from the restaurants, I was able to identify and translate this into my life in general.

In my previous post I wrote:

For the time being I am content to know that I need to rediscover what it is that I want to define my life, and what it is that I need to facilitate the aforementioned definition(s) of my life.

Writing down these words was one of those moments of clarity I sometimes enjoy when writing, a big part of the reason I toil with words in the first place. As Henri Nouwen said, 'writing is a process in which we discover what lives in us, (for) the writing itself reveals what is alive.' When I read back on those words which I had written, I knew that what my soul wanted me to hear had come to the fore, urging me to take notice.

The last month or so has made it vividly clear to me how much influence inanimate things have over my soul. Realising the amount of sway these things have over my emotional state of wellbeing has been eye-opening, and it caused me to re-evaluate their presence in my life.

This process of re-evaluation and reorientation started just over a month ago. I was visiting a German friend of mine who at the time was volunteering at a community herb garden outside the nearby town of Hoedspruit. Lodged between our hours of conversation that stretched over a few days, she communicated something so plain and commonplace that the truth of it nearly got lost on me. She was relating an incident of how her email or internet or both wasn't working properly one day, despite the fact that she had urgent online business to attend to, and how she decided in that moment not to give control of her emotions to this impersonal, lifeless things called a computer.

I was scrolling through my Facebook newsfeed the other night. It was one of those 'I don't have anything better to do right now so let me see what other people are up to' kind of scrolls.

One of my friends posted a quote from John 9:31, which reads: 'We know that God does not listen to sinners. He listens to the godly person who does his will.'

I am not quite sure what his intention was, but it was not the first time he had posted this verse on his timeline in the last couple of days, so he obviously wanted people to read it. The way it was written, quoted alone and out of context, gave the impression that this was one of those always true little sayings coming straight from the mouth of God.

I was at my home last week Saturday, minding my own business and eating some supper with friends who were spending the night, when a dozen or so new faces showed up at my front door. My neighbours Joel and Tawa, who performed arts and music earlier that day at a restaurant in the nearby town, thought it a good idea to have the after party at my house.

Building a smallish bonfire outside so as to chase away the winter cold, I squeezed into the small circle to learn the names and stories of the people I met for the first time. I soon discovered that I was surrounded by a very colourful bunch of people, and at the end of the night I was fortunate enough to be a few friends richer.

The last few weeks have been damaging to my soul. Since returning from my Cape Town trip it has been very little more than work and sleep. The times I did have free were spent largely in mindless activities such as watching TV and sleeping too much.

I hate it when I get like this: focussed solely on work and 'making a living', my world becomes small and meaningless, tinged with a slight anxiety that manifests itself as anger and agitation.

This week has been one of those hectically busy weeks. Back from holiday. Back to phone calls and emails and juggling my courtesy to clients with the deadlines that are slowly but surely creeping up on me.

I did not think that I will write this week, but I have to get something out of my system and into the open.

I am learning something fresh about love.

Or maybe it is truer to say that I am re-learning it, or still learning it.

I am learning that the God-kind of love is not impressive, at least not in the way we generally define it.

It plays out in the small, seemingly insignificant things of mundane day to day living. It comes in kind words and generous deeds, in selfless giving and small little sacrifices that are seldom noticed.