Quarter life crisis

Quarter life crisis

 20. Twenty. Twwwwwwwennnnnty.

Nope… still can’t manage to wrap my head around it. Yeah so I have like 6 more months until I ACTUALLY turn 20, but even the thought of that sends a little rush of anxiety through my old, aging body.

Its like a quarter life crisis; the marker between youthful days and those of great maturity and intellect (or something like that).

You see when you’re in your 20’s if you do something like write a book, climb Everest, or finally learn to tie your shoelaces, they aren’t that big a deal. Their adult things and because you’re now an adult, they should just be simple…ish.

Maybe I’m just overanalysing the whole thing, but there is so much I want to do before I leave my teenage days: leave something of significance, other than crazy mood swings and week-long crushes.

Things like:

1.       Finally finish the first draft of my book!

2.       Get an internship

3.       Fight against human trafficking

4.       Become the president’s PA

5.       Who is secretly a CIA agent, sent to protect him/her

6.       Buy a bunch of cute rabbits then let them loose aka. Watership down

7.       World peace

8.       Stop world hunger

9.       Eradicate poverty

10.   Okay, yes, the last 6 were a bit exaggerated….but do you get what I mean?

 

Dwelling on this unfortunate reality (old age and achy joints, coming in only 6 months), I can’t help but wonder what it would have been like if I started the things I wanted to pursue earlier.

          What if I had continued working away at the Everest book back in the day?

         What if I had continued doing Drama?

 I don’t think it’s a regret at the situation as such, but more so on what I allowed myself to believe.

Quite frankly, I sat back and allowed for excuses surrounding my age to define what I could and couldn’t do: “I can’t do anything because I’m too young’ or that ‘I don’t have a platform in the REAL world to make a difference’. Bullocks! (I say that to my younger silly self that believed that, not you.)

Youth is a gift, it’s awesome! It’s one of the few times in life where a smidge of hard work goes a long way; it’s a place where you have supporters all around you: teachers, families, small group leaders, and friends.

So take it from a (nearly) old and ancient; seize the day of youthfulness and delight in all it brings.

Peace and blessings y’all.

Speak to me

If there is one thing I hate it’s writers block. It’s like a hurricane circulating inside a glass ball, thoughts running wild in your head and yet, somehow it is impossible to put them on the page.

For the past year I have been quietly chugging away at my first novel, and have become all too familiar with writer’s block. You so long to conceptualise what is going on in your head and yet words just won’t do. The only way I can describe writing would be like being pregnant; you carry this story, your baby, for so long. You feel it move within as it kicks around, yet no one can fully understand what is going on. There may be physical signs of it; dark hollowed eyes, coffee breath and the lack of make-up, yet no one really knows. Until the day it is released. Your work is published, launched out into the mercies of the world. Like a mother you do your best to protect your baby but nothing can hide it from the criticisms or the encouragements that you may receive. It is there were you find out what you are truly made of. That is where you begin you’re parenting, cultivating the potential it has until others can see and understand your baby like you do.

But it is not easy. Writing is harsh. It is brutal. Last December I printed off the first 137 pages to my book, but the victory was short-lived. What I had in my hands needed attention, so much so I had to wipe the slate clean and start again. It hurts, is painful, yet with it comes liberation. It is an art, a way in which we can conceptualise and process thoughts. It is like a dear friend who you tell you’re secrets too.

We are surrounded by it. The songs we sing, the movies we watch, the businesses we shop from; all coming from a sheet of blank paper. A masterpiece waiting to be written.

I have come to appreciate it; writing has the ability to persuade, to agitate and to provide comfort. It is an alluring companion that strikes when we least expect it. This, this post is a reflection of that, here I sit in the library (my escapism) and can’t help but be overwhelmed by the capacity in which words affect us. I have always loved reading, but saw little relevance in it, particularly in the busyness of life. However recently I have been challenged with the reality that if I long to grow more in knowledge and acceptance of others, then maybe I should pursue after the truths I long to acquire and maybe, just maybe, the answers I seek might just be behind one of these paperback books.

In order for this to happen: our ability to grow. It is based on our ability to seek. To sit in the silence. For it is in the silence in which clarity can be found.

Often we resent the silence, because our interpretation of knowledge has been perceived as the amount of words we say. Quantitative rather than qualitative.

But what if silence is a reflection of peace. You see when we reflect and ‘live’ in the past it grows bitterness and resentment, likewise if we ‘live’ in the future, always thinking about what decision we need to make in order to end up where we want to go, then we grow anxious and worried. However, when we live in the present recognising the value of each moment: ‘Capre Diem’, then true peace is found. So silence, rather than being a bad thing, may just be a by-product of peace.

 Silence, cease it, and make time for it, for it is within the silence we may just find the answers we look for.