I am the kind of person who likes to work. Actually, I love working. I am not someone who can sit idly around and hope for the best.

So this period of ongoing uncertainty around employment and what appears to be no prospects for any kind of meaningful full-time work has struck me hard. Job applications, searching websites, networking, cold calls and emails, juggling money, trying desperately to keep my home. Wanting certainty where there is only uncertainty.

It reminds me of being in a similar position a couple of years ago when I had resigned from my corporate job in search of meaning and reason.

I found myself stuck in a mountain guest house on the Nepalese side of the Himalayas. I wanted desperately to keep trekking but I was terribly out of shape and overweight and the previous 10 days or so had taken every last ounce of energy this office worker had within her.

My guide Dipak and I spent three days hanging at Landslide – honestly, this was the name of the small well, um,village of a couple of houses and guest houses. My calves had packed it in completely and I could barely move. It wasn’t just my legs mind. My whole body ached in a way I did not entirely know was possible. But it was my legs which called an end to the insanity by going on strike! Truly, I was hostage to my calves in Landslide.

The guest house was rudimentary, at best. The beds were horrible and to get to each room you had to climb these stairs I felt had been built in a hurry. For a woman whose calves were not working, this proved somewhat problematic. Worse still were the two huge steps you needed to climb down to the squat toilet. A squat toilet with screaming, protesting calves!

I spent most of my time in my small, basic room which included a thin mattress, thick blanket, a candle and some matches. Out of the large window, I had a breath-taking view of the snow covered mountains of the Himalayas and I listened to the roar of the glacial runoff which formed a rapidly flowing river. We trekked by the river, crossed it using rickety metal bridges, and were comforted by its pounding noise which echoed through the mountains.

On day two at Landslide I was lying on the window seat watching a troupe of monkeys play as they crossed the river below. Protective adults tried to hoard the younger monkeys on to the other side and out of safety but the young monkeys just wanted to play and were oblivious of the dangers. They called to each other, wrestled and rumbled, hugged and held hands. I was envious of them until Dipak pointed out the snow leopard perched high on one of the mountains. He was looking down at the monkeys as the sunset filled the sky with magical colours. Then one of the adults either saw the leopard or sensed it or smelt it and the panicked cry of this adult sent the young ones scurrying to elders who would protect them. Within seconds the monkeys were gone.

At that point the song “Landslide” by Fleetwood Mac jumped into my head. The words ran through my mind over and over again. It felt as if they were describing the latest couple of months of my life – in an abstract way, but nevertheless. Climbed a mountain and I turned around. Saw my reflection in a snow-covered mountain. Being afraid of change. The song felt as if it was summing up my life which had come to a standstill.

I was totally lost and had no idea where I would be going next and what awaited me. It was scary; terrifying even. But a part of me didn’t care because I was in Nepal, in the Himalayas watching monkeys play in glacial runoff. Right then, in that moment, my life felt complete and the pain in my legs began to feel like a badge of courage and success.

The following day my legs had not really recovered despite the constant leg massages Dipak offered me. We talked and played cards and shared jokes with the brother and sister who ran the guest house and I again was able to settle in for the daily monkey show. What magic.

The final night we stayed I was about to embark on the torturous journey up the stairs to my room when Dipak pushed me to the side with one hand while grabbing a small snake with his other hand. I asked him if it was a dangerous snake “it is a little deadly” Dipak offered confidently!

Enough was enough and we finally called in the – wait for it – evacuation horse!!!!! I was strapped on to the saddle, literally with towels and shirts and all manner of impromptu strapping, and off we went with this incredibly, incredibly old man gently encouraging the horse to move along. It was a long trip down and over the over the horse threatened to topple over the side of the mountains. It was terrifying in its way.

Finally we hit the closest township outside the trekking area, found some rooms and ordered scotch. While our perilous journey had taken about two hours it, was still quite early, about 8am. However the more Dipak explained to me that about 60% of people being evacuated from this area are seriously injured as they are evacuated out, we poured another drink and then another!

I find myself emotionally in the same place now as I was when I was in Landslide. Except I am not in Nepal looking at monkeys in the Himalayas.

This time I am in my home. I have become reclusive as I contemplate what the future may hold. Finding enough work to cover my bills is becoming increasingly difficult and in the current environment, I have joined the masses of those newly without work security, fighting the growing fear and pessimism.

And I am very much aware I am not the only one in this position. The number of people I know who have lost their jobs in the last two years is mind-boggling. Many of them are battling bills and banks and sliding self-esteem. I feel for them. I feel for myself.

I don’t mind having been stopped for a period of self-reflection, but if I have to be broke and unemployed, I would much rather be watching frolicking monkeys as I contemplate it all.

For those who have lost their jobs, I hope that in between the stress and worry, you find your version of Himalayan monkeys, whatever that may be.