Guys. There’s a general understanding in our society which I think we need to discuss. I’m talking about the expectation that by the time you’re nearing the third decade of your life – the feared-cum-revered dirty thirty - that you’ve got it sorted.
Now admittedly, ‘it’ means something different to each of us precipice-dwellers (sometimes markedly so) but in essence this expectation boils down to variations on a theme; that you got this.
But here’s the rub. I don’t got this. I definitely, unarguably, concretely do not got it. In fact, I don’t have it to such a degree that I don’t even know what my ‘this’ looks like, let alone how to get there.
This formless ambition to find and control some ‘it’ lurks in the back recesses of my mind, appearing menacingly to remind me at inopportune moments that ‘it’ still largely eludes me; dulling the sheen of any small successes and amplifying still smaller failures.
It’s odd, because I know that just like the ghouls and spectres you meet in ghost stories, shadows of self-doubt have to be invited in before they gain any real power. And yes, I know it’s all in my mind — influenced by the ideals of culture and social sway of course — but mine all the same. Funnily enough however, just as I don’t think it would provide much comfort, should I be met with a malevolent poltergeist, to know I had hailed it like a damn New York taxi, this knowledge appears to me to be… well, frankly, a bit shit. Not much help at all, especially since while this threshold (be it composed of bricks and mortar or spongy grey matter) is supposedly impenetrable when (paradoxically) reinforced by either ignorance or clarity – becomes about as secure as a nightclub with an all areas access pass to the damned, and those damned existential fears.
Now, I’ve had multiple ‘lightbulb moments’ in which said lightbulb has gone off spontaneously in moments of sheer panic, illuminating a clear path to my ideal job, home, country, or philosophy…. For a moment.
Then… confusion again.