WTF, I'm 30 (A Matter of Choice)
It wasn't too long ago, when I saw "30" on its inevitable collision course, that I again thought: No more excuses. Then it occured to me, as it should have years ago, that it's always been a matter of choice. Everything I had done, all the decisions I made, were my decisions.
Back when I was twenty, I think I saw life as something that was happening to me. Over the years, and especially recently, I've started seeing it as a constant streaming set of choices. This persepctive has put me in the driver's seat. In an earlier posting, I referred to the little rocks that make the biggest splash. Those little rocks, the tiny pebbles, are choices. All those little events leading to where I am now, those were directions I chose.
So here I am now. So suddenly. WTF. I'm 30.
Job: No job is perfect. (My stint on the Thames excluded here - that came pretty damn close). But I do like my job now. It allows me to be creative. And I work with some wonderful, interesting people who have decades of experience from which I can learn. It's stressful, but it's satisfying. The more intense and demanding the day's tasks, the better the catharsis when I come home.
Living situation: Wonderful. See earlier blog.
Romantic Life: The longer I live with Eric, the more I love him. Cheesy, sure, but after a time spending every day with someone, the initial love turns into something so much more incredible. He;s my friend, my family, and my partner. Boy did I luck out there.
Family: Well, there's actually a funny story here. If anybody reading this has read earlier posts, you know that my parents and my sister now know I'm gay. Well, my sister ended up telling my dad, who, (youngest of seven, only boy, grew up on a farm, Southern Baptist wife - you can guess my hesitation on telling him), was very supoprting, though we've never spoken about ti directly. However, my mother has taken a recent pride in my situation, which is at the same time comforting and kind of awkward for me. Recently she was having lunch with three of my aunts (on my dad's side), and my stepmother (aforementioned Southern Baptist). My Aunt Helen asked my mother, (keeping in mind, these women are uber-southern), "Does Will have any special friends in Rhode Island?" I can only imagine the smirks, giggles, and 'do-tell' expressions on their Southern-Living countenances. My mother, not sure if they knew or not, and taking a cue from the 'special friend' verbiage, replied, "Yes, his name is Eric." Apparently my stepmother looked at my Mom as if she's just slapped her. There was an awkward silence for a few moments, as it's been relayed to me, and my stepmopther promptly changed the subject. I can only imagine that my Mom got quite a tickle from that. She was laughing about it as she told me. But you know what? I'm glad they know. I'm tired of feeling guily over who I am. I'm tired of carrying the baggage that I can't tell people who I fall in love with, am made to feel obligated to keep it inside and shameful about what I'm keeping, because of their notions of what normal is. Okay, I digress.
Things with my family are good. My sister is expecting another daughter, any week now. My Mom seems to enjoy the fact that I'm gay. My sister is blase' and accepting about the whole thing. My stepfather admitted that he's slept with a guy while in the British Navy (cue the "well, no shit"), though it was kind of weird talking to him about it in front of my Mom. But yes, things are good with my family. They know me now. They even seem to want to talk to me more.
So how did I get to 30? I chose to. I choose to be open about who I am and what I want in life. I choose to write. I choose to continue to work for the same company. I choose to come to a wonderful house and a wonderful guy each day. I choose to plan my vacations, to plan the next phase of my life, to plan the next big move (this time not alone). I choose to plan my week, my day, and the next sentence I'll type. And I choose to make these plans with the knowledge that where we plan to walk doesn't always take us where we thought it would. Life is making plans, sticking to them while staying open to new choices. I chose to look ahead while keeping my options open. I choose to always look at more options. Those little choices, the little rocks, are everything. John Lennon said that life is what happens when we're busy making other plans. Well, I say making other plans is life. Anticipate, but don't expect. Look for the new and appreciate the old. Don't walk in a straight line, choose to play hopscotch. Okay, I'm out of cliche's. You get the idea.
WTF. I'm 30. But I'm not as upset by it as I thought I would be. It's a matter of choice.
How did I get to be 30? Well, the easy answer is that I lived for thirty years - turning 30 is a natural consequence I suppose. So how did that happen? What does that mean for who I'm supposed to be? I've been going around the past year counting down the days until I'm "officially old". Really, though, I don't feel any different than I did the day before my birthday.
So have I grown? Let's look back ten years, when I turned 20.
Job: I was in City Year at that point, fighting their force-fed idealism with all the cynicism I could muster, yet wondering what the hell I would do if I wasn't in the program. I hated what I was doing, but didn't care for the alternatives. I wanted to go back to school, but at that time in my life had very little of the discipline it took to do so. I was always making plans to go to school, planing to do something, but had no idea what that might be. So I mostly just made plans.
So have I grown? Let's look back ten years, when I turned 20.
Job: I was in City Year at that point, fighting their force-fed idealism with all the cynicism I could muster, yet wondering what the hell I would do if I wasn't in the program. I hated what I was doing, but didn't care for the alternatives. I wanted to go back to school, but at that time in my life had very little of the discipline it took to do so. I was always making plans to go to school, planing to do something, but had no idea what that might be. So I mostly just made plans.
Living Situation: I was living in an apartment in Columbia, South Carolina with two of the most interesting, yet poorly-matched (for me) room mates I could have found. I was struggling to pay rent with my $150 per week living stipend, and yet partying as if I had no cares in the world. Which was partly true I suppose, since I had this sense that everything would always work out. Which is sort of did. Kind of. I got by. I had too much fun. I lived to tell about it I guess.
Romantic Life: Non-existent. Well, I went on "dates" (for lack of a better word), got laid some, but there was no one I could say I was in love with, and would never admit to anyone that I might want that, though it was what I wanted more than anything in the world.
Family: Well, my mother and stepfather did not know, but were vaguely suspicious I was gay, so anytime the subject was brought up regarding my dating life I quickly changed the subject. I became adept at this, and since I was hiding my homosexuality, the resulting chain-reaction meant that I was hiding most of my life from them. Admittedly, there are things I was doing that I haven't even admitted to them now, and am not proud of. So I loved my family, that never changed, but they didn't know me. I was secretly terrified that they might one day. It's a shame how many quality years I missed out on with them.
When I turned 20, I thought: No more excuses. Time to grow up. Did I? Not by a long shot, and not for some time. I was selfish, self-absorbed, completely in love with someone I couldn't have, smoking, drinking, and eating anything that would take me away from who I was. My family didn't know me, I pretended to be whoever I thought my friends wanted me to be, (though I was never correct in my assessment), and the people with which I was indulging on all these substances were an integral part of the life I was trying to escape. God, that sounds dramatic. But it's true. I was beginning to face the fact that I was going to be gay no matter what I tried, and convinced I wasn't as interesting or intelligent as my friends. Shortly after I had come to this conclusion, this had been confirmed by one of my peers telling a few of my friends when I wasn't present that I really had "nothing to say." Boy, did that hit home with me. When I was told about this, it was like a stack of bricks flying from out of nowhere and hitting me in the face with all the painful humiliation I could bare. This is because I felt that it was true. At the time, with whom I had not-too-carefully custom-made myself into, it probably was. It wasn't long after this that I left the country. This was a much better escape than drinking and drugs and random sex could have provided me, (not that this didn't continue for a time in the UK before I started to calm down), and set me on the road to where I am now.
Romantic Life: Non-existent. Well, I went on "dates" (for lack of a better word), got laid some, but there was no one I could say I was in love with, and would never admit to anyone that I might want that, though it was what I wanted more than anything in the world.
Family: Well, my mother and stepfather did not know, but were vaguely suspicious I was gay, so anytime the subject was brought up regarding my dating life I quickly changed the subject. I became adept at this, and since I was hiding my homosexuality, the resulting chain-reaction meant that I was hiding most of my life from them. Admittedly, there are things I was doing that I haven't even admitted to them now, and am not proud of. So I loved my family, that never changed, but they didn't know me. I was secretly terrified that they might one day. It's a shame how many quality years I missed out on with them.
When I turned 20, I thought: No more excuses. Time to grow up. Did I? Not by a long shot, and not for some time. I was selfish, self-absorbed, completely in love with someone I couldn't have, smoking, drinking, and eating anything that would take me away from who I was. My family didn't know me, I pretended to be whoever I thought my friends wanted me to be, (though I was never correct in my assessment), and the people with which I was indulging on all these substances were an integral part of the life I was trying to escape. God, that sounds dramatic. But it's true. I was beginning to face the fact that I was going to be gay no matter what I tried, and convinced I wasn't as interesting or intelligent as my friends. Shortly after I had come to this conclusion, this had been confirmed by one of my peers telling a few of my friends when I wasn't present that I really had "nothing to say." Boy, did that hit home with me. When I was told about this, it was like a stack of bricks flying from out of nowhere and hitting me in the face with all the painful humiliation I could bare. This is because I felt that it was true. At the time, with whom I had not-too-carefully custom-made myself into, it probably was. It wasn't long after this that I left the country. This was a much better escape than drinking and drugs and random sex could have provided me, (not that this didn't continue for a time in the UK before I started to calm down), and set me on the road to where I am now.
It wasn't too long ago, when I saw "30" on its inevitable collision course, that I again thought: No more excuses. Then it occured to me, as it should have years ago, that it's always been a matter of choice. Everything I had done, all the decisions I made, were my decisions.
Back when I was twenty, I think I saw life as something that was happening to me. Over the years, and especially recently, I've started seeing it as a constant streaming set of choices. This persepctive has put me in the driver's seat. In an earlier posting, I referred to the little rocks that make the biggest splash. Those little rocks, the tiny pebbles, are choices. All those little events leading to where I am now, those were directions I chose.
So here I am now. So suddenly. WTF. I'm 30.
Job: No job is perfect. (My stint on the Thames excluded here - that came pretty damn close). But I do like my job now. It allows me to be creative. And I work with some wonderful, interesting people who have decades of experience from which I can learn. It's stressful, but it's satisfying. The more intense and demanding the day's tasks, the better the catharsis when I come home.
Living situation: Wonderful. See earlier blog.
Romantic Life: The longer I live with Eric, the more I love him. Cheesy, sure, but after a time spending every day with someone, the initial love turns into something so much more incredible. He;s my friend, my family, and my partner. Boy did I luck out there.
Family: Well, there's actually a funny story here. If anybody reading this has read earlier posts, you know that my parents and my sister now know I'm gay. Well, my sister ended up telling my dad, who, (youngest of seven, only boy, grew up on a farm, Southern Baptist wife - you can guess my hesitation on telling him), was very supoprting, though we've never spoken about ti directly. However, my mother has taken a recent pride in my situation, which is at the same time comforting and kind of awkward for me. Recently she was having lunch with three of my aunts (on my dad's side), and my stepmother (aforementioned Southern Baptist). My Aunt Helen asked my mother, (keeping in mind, these women are uber-southern), "Does Will have any special friends in Rhode Island?" I can only imagine the smirks, giggles, and 'do-tell' expressions on their Southern-Living countenances. My mother, not sure if they knew or not, and taking a cue from the 'special friend' verbiage, replied, "Yes, his name is Eric." Apparently my stepmother looked at my Mom as if she's just slapped her. There was an awkward silence for a few moments, as it's been relayed to me, and my stepmopther promptly changed the subject. I can only imagine that my Mom got quite a tickle from that. She was laughing about it as she told me. But you know what? I'm glad they know. I'm tired of feeling guily over who I am. I'm tired of carrying the baggage that I can't tell people who I fall in love with, am made to feel obligated to keep it inside and shameful about what I'm keeping, because of their notions of what normal is. Okay, I digress.
Things with my family are good. My sister is expecting another daughter, any week now. My Mom seems to enjoy the fact that I'm gay. My sister is blase' and accepting about the whole thing. My stepfather admitted that he's slept with a guy while in the British Navy (cue the "well, no shit"), though it was kind of weird talking to him about it in front of my Mom. But yes, things are good with my family. They know me now. They even seem to want to talk to me more.
So how did I get to 30? I chose to. I choose to be open about who I am and what I want in life. I choose to write. I choose to continue to work for the same company. I choose to come to a wonderful house and a wonderful guy each day. I choose to plan my vacations, to plan the next phase of my life, to plan the next big move (this time not alone). I choose to plan my week, my day, and the next sentence I'll type. And I choose to make these plans with the knowledge that where we plan to walk doesn't always take us where we thought it would. Life is making plans, sticking to them while staying open to new choices. I chose to look ahead while keeping my options open. I choose to always look at more options. Those little choices, the little rocks, are everything. John Lennon said that life is what happens when we're busy making other plans. Well, I say making other plans is life. Anticipate, but don't expect. Look for the new and appreciate the old. Don't walk in a straight line, choose to play hopscotch. Okay, I'm out of cliche's. You get the idea.
WTF. I'm 30. But I'm not as upset by it as I thought I would be. It's a matter of choice.
1 comment:
Hmm. It appears that my comment appeared in the wrong spot. See Banquet Manager post.
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