tomorrow, i'll be 24 years old. the thought has caused me some great anxiety, and i've been at a loss to explain why. it's not, i don't think, the fear of getting older, though that's certainly mixed in there somewhere. i'm conscious of the fact that, though i'm getting older, i am still young, with much time ahead of me. it's the time behind me that i fret the most about.
i've found in recent years that i am a very slow person. i don't mean "slow" in the perjorative sense; rather, i am slow in the way that i move through the world. i am slow to respond, slow to understand; above all, i am slow to change. when i was 19, i watched sally potter's adaptation of orlando in a film class, and felt my eggshell cracking. though i came out as bisexual months before, and non-binary a year later, it would be three more years before i was miserable enough to admit that my body was insufficient for the task of externalizing my inner self.
this dynamic has permeated most every aspect of my life, with varying degrees of consequence. it took me five years to finish college, four to get over my first real relationship. i've been reading the brothers karamazov for over a month, and i've barely cracked 250 pages. i've accepted this as a more or less immutable quality about myself, but it doesn't change the fact that the person i am now is who i wish i could've been at 21.
years ago, at a party without an occasion, i was talking with a friend. i was asking him about the things that he was working on (he is a very talented fiction writer, a gift which i envy greatly), and he indulged me in summaries and pitches of his short stories and hopeful novels. telling me about one of his favourite writers, one who he hoped to emulate, he said, "i'm young enough to dream about what i'll be when i grow up." drunk and filled with love for humankind, i was so struck by what he said that i stopped listening as intently as i should have; later, as i lay on his couch, head spinning, i frantically typed it into my notes app, hoping to stave off forgetfulness.
over the years, i've opened up that note many a time, trying to mold it into a suitable lyric. a month ago, i finally managed to write it into a song, a cheesy, hannah diamond-esque pop tune that borrows much more from my idols than it innovates. i gave myself until my birthday to finish the final mix. i'm still not satisfied with how it sounds, and i've moved the deadline to valentine's day. if i ever finish it, i'll let you know.
i've been so preoccupied with the final product that i managed to forget what exactly moved me about my friend's beautiful, offhand words. i am trying to believe them now, repeating them like a mantra: i'm young enough to dream about what i'll become, i'm young enough to dream, i'm still young enough...
