The other day, I was at lunch with my auntie, a woman who is presumably in her late forties. At one point in our conversation, she said, with wide eyes; in my mother-tongue, “How are you such a wise, old soul? Were you always this way?” And in that moment, I either had an epiphany or a mid-life crisis (most likely a combination of the two, with an emphasis on the “crisis” part).
"Am I comfortable being perceived as a “wise OLD soul”?
Why does this always happen to me? As a firstborn daughter, I have always been perceived as “mature for my age” but I don’t want to be old. I’m young and want to stay this way. I ended up responding with something along the lines of, “Oh, you know, always . . .,” which didn’t help ease my newly formed anxiety. I quickly diverted the question to the weather, or the news, or some other small talk. I was over it. I was over her.
Once again, I was being too dramatic for my own good. And I’m not sure why. I have had the same thing said to me a million times by different people; never once have I been offended by it. My lunch companion’s well-intended words didn’t mean to touch a nerve, but they did, and it got me thinking . . .
For as long as I can remember, I wanted to be a grown-up and have more independence and responsibility, to take full ownership of my life. I mean, it is mine, right? In primary school and beyond, I wasn’t the type of kid to ask for help with my homework. I wanted to figure it out for myself. When I landed my first job, I didn’t expect money from my parents (prior to that, I accepted every penny very willingly . . . thanks, Dad! Thanks mom). I wanted to earn my own living and pay for my own things in order to truly make them mine. I moved out shortly after my first promotion and I have since figured out that this is the ultimate goal: to own one’s life. To strive to be as self-sufficient as possible, propelling myself toward total independence.
Fast-forward. I’m now thirty-two years old. I’m here. I have obtained the thing I wanted for so long: the realm of adulthood. The land of taxes, groceries, bills, voting, and endless mountains of dishes and laundry. But I now find myself looking back and frequently wondering: Should I have spent less time watching Telenovelas and gotten pregnant at twenty-one instead? Did depression and the “good girl syndrome” rob me of a period of my life that I will never get back? Should I have less empathy for others? Because very few people seem to have empathy for me. That’s one scary thought. I got goose bumps just writing that line. But these are thoughts I entertain because my reality of being a grown-up still hasn’t quite matched other people's. At thirty-two, I'm still expected to be the bigger person. It’s, um, how do I put this lightly. . . difficult?
I have racked my mind and heart for what I ought to say to you in this week's blog post; after the above depressing rant. I have asked myself what I wish I had known in my girlhood, and what three important lesson I would want to pass long.
Here they are;
Don’t waste your youth trying to grow up.
Adulthood is stressful. It’s definitely not all that you think it will be (adults reading this will surely agree). Whether you are twenty-one or fifty seven, life doesn’t get easier the older you get.
I’m willing to bet it boils over many times prior to simmering down again. And so my point is this: Don’t waste your youth trying to grow up. Because there will come a time when all you will do is yearn for the kind of naiveté, blissful ignorance, and responsibility-free days that cushion our younger years.
I wish I had been more chill and compassionate with myself at the time, but c’est la vie, I suppose.
Don't Be Too Afraid To Disappoint.
Looking back at the twenty-one-year-old that I was is a slightly uncomfortable experience for the thirty-two-year-old woman that she has become. In what feels like a lifetime ago, I was striking an uneasy balance between the ambition I had for myself and what those closest to me expected of me. I was convinced that the only thing I wanted to do, ever, was write novels. However, my parents, both of whom have overcome their impoverished backgrounds, took the view that my overactive imagination was an amusing personal quirk that would never pay a mortgage or secure a pension. Were they right? We will have to wait and see.
You might never disappoint on the scale I did, but some disappointment in life is inevitable. It is impossible to live without disappointing someone with a decision you made or something you said or did. Unless you live so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all—in which case, you will disappoint by default.
Failure; which is a consequence of disappointing myself and others, gave me an inner security that I had never attained by passing examinations. Failure taught me things about myself that I could have learned no other way. I discovered that I had a strong will and more discipline than I had suspected; I also made memories whose value is truly above the price of diamonds.
In our youth, we are meant to make mistakes. It’s almost our duty to mess up. How satisfying is that? Screw-ups are meant to happen; they teach us about right and wrong and, hopefully, build a constant reminder of “rights” for our futures. We need to fall on our asses—and, if you’re like me, you will fall more than once—but we are like cats. We always land on our feet.
Don't Be Afraid to age
Why are we never comfortable with our age? Kids want to be adults, and adults want to be kids. During our teenage years, we wanted to stop being treated like children; we wanted to be taken seriously. And, from what I have observed of older generations, they would do just about anything to be carefree and young once again, freed of burdensome responsibilities. Maybe that’s what we do: wish away our youth, and then pine for it once we understand how challenging adulthood can be. It seems to be a constant battle of wanting what we can’t have and not fully appreciating what we do.
Unfortunately, age is something none of us can change. We can try with clothes, with hairstyles, and what we talk about, but none of that can alter the numbers on our birth certificate. So, as much as some of you might yearn to be older, you will have to wait as long as the rest of us to age. As for those who wish to be younger, well, you might want to stop waiting—it's not happening. You are stuck with what you’ve got; you would best make the best out of it.
When my auntie told me I was “old,” I really shouldn’t have freaked out, because it was a compliment. She saw me as a youth but heard me as an equal. That’s special . . . and rare. I have managed to chameleon my way through different social circles and adapt to whatever my surroundings are. Maybe one day I will fully move on to old age and be content with that transition. Until then, I’m happy to enjoy the ride as the grandma-youth that I am, happily living each day at the age I am.
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