It's That Time Again
by, 08-06-2009 at 08:53 PM (1787 Views)
It's coming. Without warning and yet, completely expected. Why is it always so odd to see one single day as a turning-of-age moment? Do we not age all year long? Do we not grow with every memory and every action, good or bad?
Why do birthdays always make me feel uncomfortable? Is it because of the reminder of time passing by, the flow of life slipping away? Or is it because as we take a moment to look back, to the last birthday, reflecting on what we thought we were to accomplish, to start, to finish, to gain, to lose, and how we would change ourselves, our relationships, our lives; we realize suddenly all our short-comings or tasks abandoned, left incomplete, unfinished, cast aside, collecting dust somewhere.
Is it because that without a set goal, a determined mission, a geared aim to strive for, I flounder and flail, yearning for direction and yet never seeking it? I feel as though I have been here before, felt these exact feelings before and yet, to me that sounds like it would be impossible. Aren't I a constant variable, in essence? Shifting, changing, (hopefully) growing, learning, having mistakes, falling, and standing? If I am, how can any two moments, any two experiences, any two feelings, no matter how closely they resemble one another, be the same?
Is it a veil I pull over my eyes, shielding myself from viewing my own progress? Or is it more sinister, perhaps I am shielding myself from doling out more self-inflicted disappointment and frustration. Am I too critical or too lenient with myself?
Maybe none of these words will reach you or make a bit of sense. That's alright. I just feel a bit overwhelmed. I used to know myself. Then I lost sight of myself. Then I struggled to find an identity again. And now that I think I've found it, I'm loosing grip of me again. I'm not quite sure who I am and I'm not quite sure if I mean that in a loose or literal translation. These are the things that worry me. If I don't even know who I am, how can anyone ever connect with the actual me?
Ah, I've stranded away from my point. Birthdays suck. The end.