Monday, 1 September 2014

I've got to write this down or I'm going to go crazy...

In one week I'm going to turn twenty-six. I can't remember looking forward to a birthday less. There's just so much pressure to make the most of your youth. It's something that everyone seems to want. The youngest this and the most youthful that and they are so young and you look so young.

There are many great things about turning twenty-five. The law trusts you a little bit more. You can hire a car. You don't have to record hours for driving lessons. It equals seven. It's a powerful number. It is also, quite often, the cut-off age for Youth aimed competitions. A lot of arts programs will try to offer you as many programs and competitions and awards until you are twenty-five, and then shit gets real. You're on your own. You're playing with the big guns. I don't even mind that, what I mind is that I regret not entering those competitions. I regret not just saying, hey, whatever, give it a shot. I always felt like I  couldn't until I was perfect. So, I didn't try. I didn't enter. I didn't throw my hat in the ring and take a chance, and now I don't even have the opportunity. I hate that I care about this, that I regret it. That I feel like the whole arc of my life is to look back and say, "what if?" Why? Why do I think like that? Is it the media? The media showcasing so many young people. Young Hollywood. Up and Coming. This Three Year Old Will Break Your Heart With Her Voice. So many people want to dress like the young people. They want to live that lifestyle. They regret being insecure about their tight, wrinkle-free youthful bodies now that they are softer, and sagging, and wrinkling. I already look back at my younger body, with the handful of problems I have now, and think, "Why were you so ashamed? You were fine! Your clear skin! Your less-hairy body! Celebrate it. "I should have celebrated it more," I think...

...but fuck this guilt trip. Why can't I just suck at being young? Why can't I just accept that I'm a late starter, a Thursday's child, and I have a long way to go? I don't want to go back to being young. I was so bad at it. I was more annoying than I am now - and that's saying something. I was so ignorant. I was so selfish - more selfish than I am now. I felt so uncomfortable in my own skin. I only feel more and more comfortable every year. So why am I made to feel or let myself feel that I'm wasting my youth and letting my "best years" slip by, when maybe they are yet to come. Maybe they aren't either. Maybe it gets worse from here. Maybe. I'm not saying I want to sit on the couch and hope life brings me what I want. No. I will work hard for it. I am working hard for it. But I'm just so angry lately. I'm so angry and sad. I don't want to feel guilty anymore. I don't want to keep apologizing for myself. I don't want to feel guilty about sometimes being a grumpy bitch. I always feel like I'm begging and side-stepping around people and their moods, but why? Nobody is asking me to do that.

There's this weird thing that happens to anxious people. We are so aware of how lucky we are. We're so aware of how every moment, people die, good people who are making the most of every day, die. Yet, we sat at home with our fear and didn't do anything, and we're still here. We have this weird joke on us where we are so aware of our luckiness and therefore so afraid of its potential. We freeze in our awe of our luck, our fate, our lot.

I don't want to do that anymore. I don't want to freeze with fear. If I do, however, I don't want to feel guilty about it, that just makes it worse.

I wake up.
It's really early.
I make a hot tea or coffee.
I stretch my body.
I eat.
I shower.
I dress.
I get shit done.
All day.
I enjoy it.
I am with people.
I make food.
I eat.
I watch TV.
I trade stories.
I laugh.
I have a bath.
I go to bed.
I read a book.
I sleep.
I age.
I am lucky.
I wake with no fear of that luckiness.
I wake up.