I used to be in a hurry to grow up. I thought I would be happier “over there”.
PG-13 movies and playing in the “big kid” schoolyard were important milestones. I beamed during our ceremonial grad “walk out” of elementary school, with teachers and kindergartners lining the halls in cheers. I had outgrown the chains of my bullied, outcast identity. I wanted to reinvent, to feel free. And by the way, when would my boobs grow already?!
I lusted over first dances and fantasized about sloppy first kisses. I got my G1 right away so I could drive my friends around, instead of relying on our lame-o parents. But borrowing the car became a drag; I couldn’t wait to buy my own. By grade 12 I was caught between a fear of the unknown and a desire to keep running forward. I desperately needed the years ahead to be better than the years behind, but I was trading drama school for business school, so the jury was out.
I wasted a lot of my youth trying to impress the world, but mostly myself. Chasing the next A, the next internship, completely consumed by my personal mission (to be successful). Those four years of university years could not pass fast enough. If only I had nights and weekends to myself!
I began to race away from…
Throughout my early 20’s, I was simultaneously 55 and 15 years old. Time moved in fast slow motion. I lived and worked in the suburbs, starved my creative passions for cubicle glory that never came and participated in relationships where the conversations ran dry and sex was a chore to get over with. All I was missing was a hockey mom badge and the kids to go with it.
The trouble was, there was a screaming kid inside me, leaking out optimism-laced angst. By my mid 20’s, real life started to sink in and I floundered through the muck. I entertained going back to school and changing careers. I fantasized about travelling for six months. I shuddered at the thought of marriage. I started to make choices that made me feel half alive instead of half dead.
The dawn of 29 feels bittersweet.
The other day I plucked out a white hair from my thick, dark eyebrows. Yikes. On the upside, I no longer personally identify with what I do for a living. Most of the time, I require a motivational pep talk to visit a nightclub. I don’t even know where to go this Saturday to celebrate, that’s how out of touch I am with the cool kids. I no longer have a car to feel feelings about. People tell me “I’m still young” when they find out I am single (thank you?). Things are starting to feel better or at least I’m having fewer emotional breakdowns per quarter.
But for the first time ever, I feel the urge to pause time in its tracks. Or at least slow it down. Heck, let’s stay 28 forever! Or…
What if we decide to savour the next 365 days instead? And consciously slow ourselves down whenever we let the pace grow manic. What if we set intentions while remaining open to possibilities we never could have dreamed up? Approached the world with child-like wonder…Tweaked and iterated over vaulting…
What if we let go of where we thought we’d be by now and choose to trust that we’ll get where we’re going. All in good time.