“No matter what they wish for, no matter how far they go, people can never be anything but themselves.”
— Haruki Murakami, Birthday Girl
So another birthday has just passed and I am now twenty-three. 23! As it is, I feel detached from my new age. My heart tells me that I still belong in the early-early-twenties era (as opposed to the early-mid-twenties era I find myself in now), where youth is still an excuse to be flighty and unsure; to be a wide-eyed, imperfect, bona fide work-in-progress.
As the years slip by, so do the excuses. Expectations are mounting. As my existence advances, so should my maturity. I am supposed to know things, to understand life. To know what to do, how to act, what to say. To make decisions; the right decisions. The hard work of years past, and the promise of raw talent, should be taking shape. Success, and karma (if it exists), is cumulative, rather than a birthright.
Birthdays make me think about such things.
As the years slip by, so do the excuses. Expectations are mounting. As my existence advances, so should my maturity. I am supposed to know things, to understand life. To know what to do, how to act, what to say. To make decisions; the right decisions. The hard work of years past, and the promise of raw talent, should be taking shape. Success, and karma (if it exists), is cumulative, rather than a birthright.
Birthdays make me think about such things.
In an interview with The BBC, The Drums described their songwriting manifesto:
We only write about two feelings: one is the first day of summer when you and all of your friends are standing on the edge of a cliff watching the sun set and being overcome with all of your hopes and dreams at once.
The other is when you’re walking alone in the rain and realize you will be alone forever.
Birthdays have the potential to cultivate both: immense happiness and immense loneliness.
I am always a better person in March. There is something about reliving the day I was born that invites introspection. It's the being-the-centre-of-attention; the acknowledgement of time moving beneath me, a current I cannot a control; being faced with my mortality, the inevitability of the ageing process. And so, when these contemplations resurface each year, I make an effort to be more connected with the people I love, to be more thoughtful about the way I live my life.
I adjust in this way because I am being forced to question myself. Am I good person? Who are my real friends? What have I been doing with my life? What are my hope and dreams? Will they ever happen?
All of this is underpinned by my greatest fear: the fear of finding myself alone.* Becoming so caught up in my own world - so disconnected from the people around me - that when my birthday does come around... there are no birthday wishes, no friends and family to share the day with me, nobody to celebrate my existence. It's the fear of being forgotten. Of having nothing to show. Of spending the year, as Charles Bukowski says:
All of this is underpinned by my greatest fear: the fear of finding myself alone.* Becoming so caught up in my own world - so disconnected from the people around me - that when my birthday does come around... there are no birthday wishes, no friends and family to share the day with me, nobody to celebrate my existence. It's the fear of being forgotten. Of having nothing to show. Of spending the year, as Charles Bukowski says:
“... terrorized and flattened by trivialities... eaten up by nothing."
Of course, being driven by fear is no way to live.
I had a heartfelt discussion with somebody close to me, the other day. They had asked me to do certain things. Or, more aptly, to be a certain way. And so, in a moment of unguarded honesty, I told them that
I would love nothing more than to accommodate their wishes.
I would love nothing more than to change myself to be a better, more perfect, more loveable person, because being loved is very - all - important to me.
But no matter how hard I tried, I would never change.
I would never be the person they wanted me to be.
In fact, the things they wanted me to change make me who I am.
And what we both had to accept was that if I was always trying to change myself, to be a different person, to fit myself into a mould that someone else had created, I would never be happy.
I would never be whole.
I would never be me.
In this year's reflections, I was drawn to a post I had written last year, called Six Words. And I know it's awfully self-important to quote yourself, but when better than your birthday to be awfully self-important?
I had a heartfelt discussion with somebody close to me, the other day. They had asked me to do certain things. Or, more aptly, to be a certain way. And so, in a moment of unguarded honesty, I told them that
I would love nothing more than to accommodate their wishes.
I would love nothing more than to change myself to be a better, more perfect, more loveable person, because being loved is very - all - important to me.
But no matter how hard I tried, I would never change.
I would never be the person they wanted me to be.
In fact, the things they wanted me to change make me who I am.
And what we both had to accept was that if I was always trying to change myself, to be a different person, to fit myself into a mould that someone else had created, I would never be happy.
I would never be whole.
I would never be me.
In this year's reflections, I was drawn to a post I had written last year, called Six Words. And I know it's awfully self-important to quote yourself, but when better than your birthday to be awfully self-important?
... if our only task in life is to be true to ourselves, to explore the peripheries of our own souls, then we can never fail, but we can most definitely succeed. And our success will only grow and evolve with time and age and wisdom. With those things comes the courage to be utterly true and raw in our hearts and, as a result, discovering the lengths of what we can do. Realising our potential, beyond the horizon of what we ever thought possible.
For isn't that what happiness is all about?
As my birthdays come and go, so will success and love and friendships and dreams. There will be disappointments and heartache and pain peppered amongst the good books and heartwarming conversations and beautiful sunsets. But regardless of everything, I will be me.
It's all I can count on and it's all that really matters.
It's all I can count on and it's all that really matters.
*Poem For My 43rd Birthday
by Charles Bukowski
To end up alone
in a tomb of a room
without cigarettes
or wine--
just a lightbulb
and a potbelly,
grayhaired,
and glad to have
the room.
2 comments:
I'm 26 in September and feel the same. I am very detached from my age, having spent 5 years of my life indoors due to illness and now being a first year uni student surrounded by 19-21yos.
I am also learning that the expectation only comes from within.
Nat x
I know how you feel Nat... I feel old in my classes as well, even though there are only a couple of years between me and most of my classmates. I don't mind it though, because I also feel wiser, which gives me more confidence in my work. xx
Post a Comment