22 & not a clue

What a curious thing it is to consider that part of your life, a chapter if you like, is over. Published and done with. I will never drive around in cars with Gerry or Brian like we used to. I will never have cause to sit in a Lurgan car park of a Saturday night smoking a 'bine', trying to keep up with the slang. I will not catch another boat to Stranraer to see that lover, may his acne never go away. Lastly I will most likely never catch another Frankston train home to see family I hardly know but love all the same. These periods and habits are done with now and I have outgrown them all. The are both past and passed.

A sure sign of spiritual growth is when you want more freedom and less stuff. I am not taking anything back to London with me unless it is vintage or second hand. The thought of buying furniture is giving me hives, I can't shake the feeling that I am not done yet. The saying

runs through my head. I know settling down has to be done at some point in order to begin the 'career journey'. I want that with both hands outstretched and claws unfurled. Yet at the same time my horizons loom so large and bright it seems a crime to glimpse them from the foot of the mountain and then only venture half way up. The adventures to come will be different. They will be shared, partnered and there is so much joy to be had in that I am sure.

But as someone who has been independent for so long I am nervous that I am sacrificing a few dreams in order to be happy. At 22 is it too early to do that? I don't want to compromise on my dreams. Why should we?

Increasingly I'm noticing things that never seemed to matter before which now alter everything in their finite detail. Like the creases in a skirt that previously I wouldn't bother to iron or the sudden necessity to polish my shoes and finally the importance of eyebrows. These details are filling in the space between all the other things I think about. Not quite so much so that I am beginning to turn into a 52 year old shorter version of myself, but enough that I smugly smile and think 'I'm a grown up.'

Speaking of which last week I paid a wizened crone $200 for the privelege of wearing lipstick and discussing my finances. It is the most expensive grown up thing I have ever done and thank god the ATO is rewarding me with tax back otherwise I would have lost my shit. Each adult thing is a personal mile stone, an achievement in that I did it myself. Pathetic really considering millions of people do these things everyday.

I guess what I am celebrating is the subconsciousness of it all. It's becoming second nature to do sensible things. I still don't understand the stock market or how to wire a plug - but I have done my tax return and I remember to pencil my eyebrows each morning so that counts right? With six weeks left of my Australian adventure I am financially independent and hopeful that I may not be as clueless as when I arrived.

It's human nature to freak out, but it's even more natural to learn and grow. Appreciating the things you've learnt to handle and the experiences that taught you nothing is ever that big a deal is important. Especially now when no one else will know if you remembered to polish your shoes or not: it's all up to you now. Twenty somethings are human beanstalks - we just keep growing up and reaching skyward despite all the axes and Jacks along the way.

Communication can be a bit like the guy who told the group he only came to salsa class because his therapist told him to.
You avoid it & him like the plague. Same shit different smell as a good Jewish friend recently told me.
Nothing changes you just avoid it.
It can't be just me?

I live in a bubble of denial, I throw myself around the globe & my heart with me like nobodies business, say its all fine & then get my mother to call me from Northern Ireland at 1am because homesickness has finally caught up with me.
Reality rape essentially.
And it's entirely my own fault.

You have to be aware of what's going on & how that impacts on you & others in your life. If you choose not to communicate there will be problems & you will fall down a rabbit hole of emotion where you won't even need a little label saying 'drink me' for encouragement.
Learn to be open to talking about your emotions. If you feel shit then say so. Don't do this western passive aggressive crap that soo many woman have perfected these days.

If the sex isn't good. Say so. Coz otherwise it won't get better.
If you don't accept shit sex then don't accept feeling down & not saying something about it. Don't be too proud to just lay it out; how you feel & maybe, if you don't already know, you'll figure out why.

Online communication however is a completely different kettle of fish. A phrase I have never understood as why would you put fish in a kettle anyway.

If you send someone two emails over two days & then maybe a FB msg in reply to their reply from the previous day then you may find yourself on a park bench outside your salsa class blogging just to ignore the rising sense of anxiety that comes with doubt.
Oh fuck.

Regardless, say it. Because if you don't you might get hacked to death by the guy who you ignored last week because his therapist made him come & you will never get that chance to clear the air, appreciate or love that person you wanted to reach out to.

So yeah, I love you.

Doesn't that feel better?

Time to cucaracha !

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