I’ve been thinking… Isn’t this ”growing up” thing getting a bit old?
Not that I feel old or mature or finished or balanced or big or wise… Or anything.
But I have been growing up for the last nineteen years. Up and up and up.
Until two years or so ago, when I stopped growing upwards and just grew.
Either way (or direction), it’s a pretty long time to be doing anything.
Few of my other projects have lasted that long, and there’s probably a
good reason for that. The most important one being that I grow bored with
everything that requires some sort of effort, after a while.
Which might be why I’m writing this in the first place.
Maybe growing up is simply too boring?
Another reason I grow tired of projects is that I stop being any good at them.
I found I had some sort of natural talent for photography. I loved it. For several
years. I still enjoy it, but the natural talent didn’t take so well to for me less
natural elements of, say, learning how a camera actually works. Or trying to
become better at it.
Thinking. Failing. Trying again. I gave up tap dancing before I even started
(I have the shoes, though. Shiny and untouched).
I was going to be a writer. When I was twelve. Also, an artist. When I was ten.
I was going to grow up and become a journalist.
I’ll be twenty this year and I’m not becoming a journalist. But I’m still growing up.
If growing up had been optional, I should have given it up years ago.
In fact, I might not even have started. It’s not very fun, it’s definitely not easy…
And I doubt anyone’s good at it. But here’s life and here are the rules:
Come, grow old, leave.
If there’s anything you can’t skip in life, it’s growing up. So here I am, changing.
Right here, growing like a wart on the universe’s hairy chin. Sucking up wisdom
like a freaking sponge. Year after year after year. I’m not getting graded,
I don’t get a golden star on my homework.
And no one’s going to pat me on the back and say hey, good job with that
life of yours. You have an eye for this growing up thing.
Still, it continues on. I’ve been doing it longer than anyone my age has
done anything else. There are 20-year-old poker professionals out there.
I should be a life pro. I should be making money.
I’m obviously not. If I were, my blog wouldn’t have two followers.
Nor have I gotten better at it – if you take my age into account.
When I was little, I grew up just as fast as I’m growing now.
It takes me twenty-four hours to get through a day. Still.
All in all, a fairly unsuccessful project.
Except I have grown up. And I am growing.
Not faster than before, but not slower either (Time-wise. Length-wise, I’m perfectly paralyzed).
I’ve also discovered, with disappointment, how hard it is not to grow up.
A lot more complicated than growing up, actually.
It seems no matter what I do, I evolve. Or times does.
And I’m not bored. I feel should be. I think I should be restless. But I’m not really bored at all. Not with growing, anyway…
I am a little bit bored with the first couple of sentences in this post, however. Growing up thing? Getting old? nineteen?
No, it’s not getting old. That was a stupid, stupid idea. I’m a stupid, stupid girl.
See? One hour and I’m already wiser. Maybe I don’t need twenty-four hours
after all… I will figure out where on the chin my wart should belong. I will
find a tap dancing course and I will rock it’s sorry ass. I will become something.
Fail, try, fail. Then I will ask another stupid question
(Because it’s more fun that way).
And there will come a time when that stupid question is
”Aren’t I getting a bit old?”