almost 28
Some thoughts with no real connective tissue. Well, maybe. I'm not sure what I wrote.
It’s true. I turn 28 in three-ish weeks, and weirdly enough, I feel reborn in a way. My head is higher. My face is in the sun. I’m taking deeper breaths. I’m focused, and locked in. Something happened earlier this year that knocked the wind out of me, and breathed new life into my lungs.
In college we spent entirely too much time studying Socrates, and this concept of an examined life. In my majority white lecture hall, I hung onto this “examined life”. What did it mean to live an examined life? What did it mean to be in the pursuit of knowledge and self actualization? What did it mean to critically think about one’s self?
It meant developing an introspective lens, and looking inward. As I moved through college, I became more and more self aware, and to a degree paralyzed at the thought of doing anything. Then, as a response to campus civil unrest, I came out as queer in a room full of my peers, and Catholic conservatives. I was now the fully embodiment of their societal fears. Everyone already thought of me as this “different” type of person, so I decided this was my chance to embrace it to it’s fullest. There isn’t much after identifying yourself as a gay person on a Catholic conservative campus.
In the midst of “becoming”, I was writing. Running to the page in an effort to understand the world around me. Constantly unearthing parts of myself, and reflecting and realizing I didn’t actually have a place to belong. This feeling, and this great noticing was a side effect of the beginnings of an examined life. Thank you Socrates.
I realized over the past twenty years, I spent a lot of time trying to fit a square into a circle. Trying to squish and morph into something more digestible by those around me. In the midst of that, I had become less and less eccentric, less and less excited, and more and more depressed. Watering myself down. I never cried about this, as a child, or an adult, but there is a wound there.
I’m too old to hate myself. It becomes pathetic, and uninteresting. Oh you also self sabotage? You also deal with losers because it’s what you think you deserve? One morning, I laid awake in my bed, dreading the day ahead of me, but as I remembered it was Saturday and I didn’t have to move, I had time to sit there and think. In the midst of a painful spiral about my body, I had a realization. There was so much energy wasted on pissing on myself. Bullying myself. Punching down. Girl, get up, we still got half a bottle left. (The next 40 years (at least)). I’m too old to hate myself.
Ever since I was a child, I considered myself special in the same way every child considers themselves special, but even as an adult the feeling still lingers. There’s something more for me out there beyond living a generic life. The thing is, if I accomplish absolutely nothing, it will be humiliating which should only further prove how much I believe in this divine whisper telling me to go above my circumstances, and to believe in myself. I took a chance, I bet on myself, and the universe rewarded me for it. Confidence has begun to grow back. I should trust myself.
I’m deeply inspired by Doechii as of recent.
Every year, I have a motto for myself that I follow, and this year’s is “Oh wait! I’m becoming everything I ever wanted” because I genuinely feel that. The person I am FINALLY becoming is someone I’d be amazed by, even if he currently doesn’t have a line up. Nothing is perfect. This year will obviously pose challenges, but I have to have faith—faith that everything will work out.
Rejection is simply just redirection. Pain is temporary. Life will continue.
—S