It's April 11, 2011. In a mere 79 days, I will be turning amazingly, astonishingly, spectacularly 25 years old (That's June 28th, for those of you who, like me, aren't so hot with the mathematics, and want a little time to plan to pick me up a little somethinsomethin).
My birthdays for the last three or four years have been a little different that those before it; with each, I've wondered and worried if THIS particular number means I'm REALLY a no-holes-barred grown-up, if I've run out of young-and-stupid indulgences, if this particular digital combination means that I'm no longer just being hard on myself, and that everybody else thinks it's time for me to get it together, too, whatever that means (or meant). Don't get me wrong, I've had fun and they've been exciting, happy occasions each; there's just been an increasing sentiment on my part that the longer it seems I'll actually, for real, pretty-healthfully be sticking around, the more I've got to start actually, for real, not-just-theoretically planning for a future I didn't even realize I wasn't banking on (go ahead and re-read that last crazy sentence, all packed with double-negatives).
Growing up, I think I so believed that "they" were justthisclose to a cure, that it didn't cross my mind to think of an adulthood in which CF would be any more of a hindrance than it was at the time (er, really not much at all). Then, when I got so sick as a freshman 2004 and set off my years-long college cycle of [class-->hospital-->catch-up-->burn-out-->repeat], any visions of a future beyond the next few years were hazy, at best, and centered around what seemed like an inevitable progression of my illness; goals above and beyond "survive and graduate" became icing.
So now, it's been just over two years since I've been out of school, and due to a few lucky breaks in treatment plans, unexpected personal efficacy of a great, newly-FDA-approved drug, a few crossed fingers and some good juju, I'm actually doing pretty well, and actually seem to be gradually improving with time. *knocks on wood, looks to sky for dropping shoes.*
More importantly, I'm consistently doing pretty well; the unpredictability of my previous wild swings in healthfulness - conquering the world this week, gasping for breath in the hospital the next - were harder than the actual physical manifestations of the illness. This new physical stability has brought with it quite a bit of psychic stability, as well. However, without the wild swings to provide the stark contrast and clarity to my personal definition of "healthy", it has been hard not to assume the absolute best of my healthfulness as a new norm from which I can predictably operate. Finding the sweet spot between embracing the freedom of a little security, while acknowledging the limitations that do still exist beyond my control - as well as the self-imposed limitations that I've chosen to leverage against the underlying unpredictability that does still exist, in an attempt to ensure that degree of stability - has been a challenge - moreso than I would have expected, could I have predicted and hedged such a bet.
Furthermore, I have a passionate personality that tends towards the dramatic and the extreme; so yes, when I get down, I can really over-think myself into a pickle; but when I'm excited and energized, there is simply no stopping me. Unfortunately, this has led to both a tendency to bite off more than I can chew, convinced that I can conquer it all and look fabulous doing it, as well as the additional gift of salesmanship that allows me to convince others to believe me, despite all evidence and history to the contrary. All this to say, that pre-crazy-sick-college years (and even intermittently within them), I just sort of took it for granted that I was going to be someone, something, really important and influential and just freaking fabulous - and while there was admittedly bit of a chicken-or-egg dichotomy going on (I was the youngest grandchild until my mid-teens, and remain an only child and grandchild, after all), I feel this huge burden that I got so many other people in my life to buy into my own hype, and now I've just turned out kind of...normal, in a lot of ways, and actually stunted, or behind, or whatever, in a lot of others.
So here I am, nearing twenty-five, and I'm in a bit of...not even a funk, just a really, really weird place. I don't know what to expect from myself. I don't know what the yardstick is anymore so I don't know where to draw the line between accepting what is (and allowing myself a little peace, and contentedness, and self-compassion), and continuing to allow myself to keep holding out that I can, and will, still do and be something spectacular. When do you throw in the towel, cut yourself a break, and say "normal can be good enough", and when do you keep pushing, even when you don't know what it is you're pushing towards? How long do you get to expect people to keep believing in you, keep holding out hope that you'll pull off the Cinderella story, and at what point does it become naive, selfish, even cruel? At what point does it become cruel of them to continue to indulge your fantasies, meanwhile (I imagine, because I'm crazycakes like this) rolling their eyes behind your back, muttering, "I'll believe it when I see it?"
It's like those people you see coming back to American Idol year...after year...after year...and still, well, sucking - or I guess a better analogy, being OK - maybe even good, for like, a small-town church choir or something - but definitely not "star" material. When do these people wake up and realize their sonic dreams should stay within the four walls of their showers and cars? Does it give them peace? Does it crush them? Does the simple striving until there's not another door to knock on (or mic to screech into) provide the reward in and of itself? Do the people around them resent the expectation that they continue to listen, to escort to auditions, to maintain the facade of the dream? Or does watching the passion and the joy that their loved one's warbling bring them make it all worth it, and OK, and simply part of knowing that person?
When do they have an obligation to stop listening? And what happens if it's the day before the audition that could change all their lives forever?
I feel the overwhelming urge to DO something, to stop THINKING and PLANNING and just DO, DAMMIT. And just keep DOing and DOing and DOing, free-falling into DOing over and over until FAILing feels FREE, instead of humiliating and soul-crushing and paralyzing, until I DO something fabulous, spectacular, grandiose, serious and important and beautiful and world-changing all at once, or each at a time.
But DO.... WHAT?
Furthermore, I have a passionate personality that tends towards the dramatic and the extreme; so yes, when I get down, I can really over-think myself into a pickle; but when I'm excited and energized, there is simply no stopping me. Unfortunately, this has led to both a tendency to bite off more than I can chew, convinced that I can conquer it all and look fabulous doing it, as well as the additional gift of salesmanship that allows me to convince others to believe me, despite all evidence and history to the contrary. All this to say, that pre-crazy-sick-college years (and even intermittently within them), I just sort of took it for granted that I was going to be someone, something, really important and influential and just freaking fabulous - and while there was admittedly bit of a chicken-or-egg dichotomy going on (I was the youngest grandchild until my mid-teens, and remain an only child and grandchild, after all), I feel this huge burden that I got so many other people in my life to buy into my own hype, and now I've just turned out kind of...normal, in a lot of ways, and actually stunted, or behind, or whatever, in a lot of others.
So here I am, nearing twenty-five, and I'm in a bit of...not even a funk, just a really, really weird place. I don't know what to expect from myself. I don't know what the yardstick is anymore so I don't know where to draw the line between accepting what is (and allowing myself a little peace, and contentedness, and self-compassion), and continuing to allow myself to keep holding out that I can, and will, still do and be something spectacular. When do you throw in the towel, cut yourself a break, and say "normal can be good enough", and when do you keep pushing, even when you don't know what it is you're pushing towards? How long do you get to expect people to keep believing in you, keep holding out hope that you'll pull off the Cinderella story, and at what point does it become naive, selfish, even cruel? At what point does it become cruel of them to continue to indulge your fantasies, meanwhile (I imagine, because I'm crazycakes like this) rolling their eyes behind your back, muttering, "I'll believe it when I see it?"
It's like those people you see coming back to American Idol year...after year...after year...and still, well, sucking - or I guess a better analogy, being OK - maybe even good, for like, a small-town church choir or something - but definitely not "star" material. When do these people wake up and realize their sonic dreams should stay within the four walls of their showers and cars? Does it give them peace? Does it crush them? Does the simple striving until there's not another door to knock on (or mic to screech into) provide the reward in and of itself? Do the people around them resent the expectation that they continue to listen, to escort to auditions, to maintain the facade of the dream? Or does watching the passion and the joy that their loved one's warbling bring them make it all worth it, and OK, and simply part of knowing that person?
When do they have an obligation to stop listening? And what happens if it's the day before the audition that could change all their lives forever?
I feel the overwhelming urge to DO something, to stop THINKING and PLANNING and just DO, DAMMIT. And just keep DOing and DOing and DOing, free-falling into DOing over and over until FAILing feels FREE, instead of humiliating and soul-crushing and paralyzing, until I DO something fabulous, spectacular, grandiose, serious and important and beautiful and world-changing all at once, or each at a time.
But DO.... WHAT?
You remind me of me so much it's scary. I could go on and on with answers here - all the things I've learned about myself and figured out along the way, all the ways I've let myself down and simultaneously made myself proud...but that would be my journey. It sounds like a cliché (and SO sappy), but it really is true - you have to walk your own path and sorting out all these questions is part of that path for you. One thing I CAN promise you though, is that you will ALWAYS be analyzing these questions in some variation or another. And throwing CF into the mix makes finding that balance even more elusive. For analytical, goal-oriented, super-positive or really down-in-the-dumps people like us, it will always be a moving target.
ReplyDeleteThis is Rhiannon, btw :)
Book Author? Stand Up Comedian? Miss you!
ReplyDeleteSo did you figure out what to do?
ReplyDelete