Skip to main content

Finally Feeling Old

friend: You blab.
me: No! I'm a verbal processor. (pause) And have a lot of good friends.
friend: Nice get out clause.



This conversation is going through my mind as I prep for tomorrow's big art show, and wonder if I am really as secretive as I think.

What I do know is that I'm blessed with an abundance of fantastic people in my life. This last month has been full of encouragement from people who are thrilled that I'm doing this.

I can't stop smiling.

I thought to myself earlier today, I hope this is what a wedding feels like. Other than a wedding day, how often does a girl have (almost) all her favourite people come to one place to ooh and ahh and compliment and celebrate her life?

Not very often. But if I never get married (which I hope is not how my life pans out), I will have had at least one good party with people from all parts of my life. I am amazed by the assortment of people who are coming.

If people like my artwork half as much as I do tonight, I will be smiling for a week.

This is honestly, the most exciting weekend of my (not-quite-so-young)* life.


* Someone sent me an email this week that said, "Enjoy your last week of being 25!" They are younger than me, although it doesn't seem that way. But it hit me. For the first time in ever, I felt old. As someone who has wanted to be older for most of my life, this surprised me. And I felt a little bit sad and a little bit happy - I beat back one insecurity. And am gonna make room for a new one. HOW DO I ALREADY HAVE WRINKLES!?

Comments

  1. I can't wait to hear all about your show!! What an awesome idea to celebrate your birthday and I so wish I could have been there. I have no doubt that it was a success of gargantuan proportions!!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Happy Birthday, my friend. From the pics I saw on FB it looked like a fantastically wonderful time :)

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Simone Weil: On "Forms of the Implicit Love of God"

Simone Weil time again! One of the essays in Waiting for God  is entitled "Forms of the Implicit Love of God." Her main argument is that before a soul has "direct contact" with God, there are three types of love that are implicitly  the love of God, though they seem to have a different explicit  object. That is, in loving X, you are really loving Y. (in this case, Y = God). As for the X of the equation, she lists: Love of neighbor  Love of the beauty of the world  Love of religious practices  and a special sidebar to Friendship “Each has the virtue of a sacrament,” she writes. Each of these loves is something to be respected, honoured, and understood both symbolically and concretely. On each page of this essay, I found myself underlining profound, challenging, and thought-provoking words. There's so much to consider that I've gone back several times, mulling it over and wondering how my life would look if I truly believed even half of these thi...

I Like to Keep My Issues Drawn

It's Sunday night and I am multi-tasking. Paid some bills, catching up on free musical downloads from the past month, thinking about the mix-tape I need to make and planning my last assignment for writing class. Shortly, I will abandon the laptop to write my first draft by hand. But until then, I am thinking about music. This song played for me earlier this afternoon, as I attempted to nap. I woke up somewhere between 5 and 5:30 this morning, then lay in bed until 8 o'clock flipping sides and thinking about every part of my life that exists. It wasn't stressful, but it wasn't quite restful either...This past month, I have spent a lot of time rebuffing lies and refusing to believe that the inside of my heart and mind can never change. I feel like Florence + The Machine 's song "Shake it Out" captures many of these feelings & thoughts. (addendum: is the line "I like to keep my issues strong or drawn ?" Lyrics sites have it as "stro...

Esse - Czeslaw Milosz

I'm on a bit of a poetry binge this week, and Monday afternoon found me lying on the luxurious shag rug of a friend's tiny apartment, re-reading some of my favourite poets (ee cummings, William Carlos Williams, Czeslaw Milosz). It is an adventure to re-open a collection and wonder what will pop out, knowing something you've read before will strike you afresh, or you will be reminded of a particularly moving line that you had somehow forgotten. Like this piece from Milosz, which floors me. Every. damn.* time. The first time I read it, I lay in a park with a friend (this same friend who offered me her rug as my reading burrow) and demanded that I share it with her. I spoke it carefully, and then, into the post-reading silence, I slammed the book shut, and dropped it as loudly as I could onto the grass. "I'm never reading anything again," I declared, "What else is there to say?" Esse I looked at that face, dumbfounded. The lights of métro st...