I have lived three decades. And yet not found my self. I have no desire to live a long life. I’d rather have it short and crisp. Given my preference I can safely speculate that my life is more than one third done.
This might not make any sense to anyone but me. But that will not discourage me from writing it.
Read at your discretion.
With a third done and pretty much no concrete purpose in life, I have two options today. To accept this as a fact and know that not everyone is born to be a Mother Teresa or Indira Gandhi, and let this life runs its course. Or I can accept that I, by choice, wasted a big chunk of my life conforming and it is now pretty late in the game to change course. And although it is a little uncomfortable to choose this option. I am “now” brave enough to accept it.
I might have not found “my self” or identified the “purpose” of life, but at least I have grown up. And that my friend is the point. Regardless of what happens, each year you grow up just a little bit. And at thirty, you might not completely understand all the intricate details of the workings of this world, but you are grown up enough to know that the jigsaw puzzle ahead of you, is unique to you. And the pieces sometimes magically fit with each other and sometimes take a long time to find their true anchor on the board. And also even though this is your game, there will be many who would rather have you play it their way. But in the end it is your actions and choices that bring it all together – consciously or subconsciously.
My twenties were such a mixed bag. From being a naive and innocent juvenile to becoming this matter of fact’ish person who is cynical, satirical, cut throat and aggressive, I have changed a lot in this last decade. I have acquired layers and switched lenses. I have lost trust, love, friends and a parent. I have gained intuition, grief, judgement and tidbits of wisdom. I have shed my baby skin and turned into this gooey substance on the inside that sometimes becomes as hard as a stone and at times melts and flows like a molten lava. I have learnt to reflect and yet not to absorb. I have learnt to smile on the outside, and cry rivers on the inside. I have become this complicated being that has lost her ‘natural’ response to situations to a more ‘appropriate’ one. And the best part is that none of this was a deliberate change. It “JUST” happened over time.
This brings me to the larger question. If this is how things work, then have I no role to play in who I become and what I do? If I could not control this inner metamorphosis that I can attempt to describe but not regulate, then what’s the point of this reflection and analysis? Where does all this lead me to? Just another year of splits and conflicts within myself? And secondly does it have to lead me to something?
Of course to others this is all just plain BS and a note from a yet another narcissistic human being. I don’t really care. All I know is that if I want to discover I have to be fearless. Because sometimes when you go looking for secrets, you might not necessary like what you find. And to accept the facts as you grow along is also part of the discovery.
And even if all these reflection and analysis has no meaning, I am just contented to know that thanks to all that the twenties threw at me, I have turned out to be brave. Brave enough to ‘know’ and ‘accept’ myself. Brave enough to “love” and also “hate” myself.
To the decades …
The first didn’t matter
The second was quite a scatter
The third was quite a slosh
I hope the fourth doesn’t go awash 🙂