This birthday when I latched my eyes onto the cheese cake, I knew what I had to do. Take the biggest bite possible – for it’s the flavour I savour. I’ve long lost my sweet tooth to puberty and am no longer a fan of saccharin. But when I held this cake in my hand, ready to indulge in its flavour, the irony of life’s dictum ‘Life is not a piece of cake!’ dawned on me . . . and played on a vicious loop in my head.
I’ve lived more than thirty years on this planet. Clearly, had an equal number of birthdays – each made special by friends and family. This birthday, however, was far from the usual. It highlighted my changed perspective on life and a reformed outlook to myself. So, it’s my 33rd; a perfect day for retrospection…
At 10, I wanted to more than just comply. I wanted to grow up . . .
When I was little, all I had to worry about were my grades. I had a loving family, plenty friends and a lot of spare time. Life was simple. Yet, the life of a grown-up intrigued me. It was the forbidden cookie that I couldn’t have, but hungered for, all the same. I imagined the perks of being an adult. And to my petty intellect all it meant was no rules and no conformation. I couldn’t wait to grow up.
At 15, I wanted to more than just grow up. I wanted to fit in . . .
In a leap of five years, I had come of age. I was done with high school, had excelled academically and had done well for myself on the extracurricular front. My conversations now orbited the perimeter of career, ambition and all such relevant grown-up stuff. But deep within me, under the layers of merit, aptitude and eloquence I was a confused mess. A teenager captive to her insecurities – futile anxieties that revolve around appearances, self-worth and expectation. Together they were an overwhelming force that constantly made me feel out of place. Conversely, I craved to fit in. I wanted that perfect life that I thought my peers had. I wished I were someone else.
At 20, I wanted to no more fit in. I wanted to be unique . . .
Figuratively, I had stepped out into the big bad world when I joined college. With no more parent or tutor at guard, I was fully accountable for my actions. The safest way out then, was to emulate my contemporaries. So, I went with the flow and became part of the herd. Though, within a couple of years of conforming to the pack temperament, the inclusiveness and familiarity which I once longed for, began to suffocate me. The ease and instinct with which I had fitted in further subdued me. Perhaps it meant I wasn’t special after all. I was flawed and ordinary just like everyone else. With an identity at the brink of oblivion, I craved to be unique.
At 25, I wanted to more than just be unique. I wanted to dream . . .
Redefining my individuality was no cakewalk. I had evolved but from a confused teenager to an anxious vicenarian. The course of events, however, changed drastically when I came to understand and consequently accept myself better. At a quarter century, my flaws didn’t seem so bad after all, although I’d be lying if I say I wasn’t a tad uncomfortable. But I owned my weaknesses nearly the same as I did my strengths. There’s a certain empowerment to self-awareness. It’s liberating in a way that I began to acknowledge personality traits that had long been suppressed, long misunderstood. This reconciliation, as good as a burden being lifted off my shoulder, primed and prepared me to dream.
At 30, I wanted to more than just dream. I want to succeed . . .
It was probably when I hit thirty – akin to a rock physically hitting me – it dawned upon me that my life was a product of what I make of it. Until then I had washed my hands off the task of addressing the circumstances that got in the way of my visions. I was convinced, it was life’s responsibility to fix itself up for me. I played safe while still hoping for a smooth sail. Days had cascaded into years but nothing had changed. My dreams were still crude imaginations that had not yet made it to the canvas. This cocoon of denial needed to be shattered and I was up for this challenge as I entered my fourth decade.
At 33, I want to more than just succeed. I want to thrive . . .
It took me thirty three years to get to where I am. I’ve left my comfort zone, taken risks I was afraid to take and have tread paths unfamiliar. I’ve also learnt that some choices are tough to make. Some aren’t even choices to begin with, but one has to choose anyway. Some familiarities are worth giving up, some decisions are worth making. They allow you take charge of your life and steer it in the direction you deem best. Eventually, being fair to yourself is as important as being just to another.
Life was never meant to be easy; we all agree to that. But life could be thrilling as well, if we attempt to look at it that way. I needed to give my attitude a huge makeover in order to embrace life as it is in its raw, imperfect form. I’ve learnt to remind myself that there’s a world out there that is simpler and more forgiving than the delusion we conveniently choose to live in. There’s a lot that’s amiss, a lot misplaced, a lot more misconstrued. Life is not a piece of cake! I’d rather steer my helm and choose to not just survive, but prosper and thrive instead. I wish to go out there and gather experiences that I imagined were out of my reach. Experiences that will help me grow as a human and become a better version of myself.
“I want no mind that is constantly rattled, no heart that is callous. I seek but a soul that is content.”