I am thirty years old and I still do not have any skills that would win me the Hunger Games or a pageant
I remember a lot of conversations around the time The Hunger Games came out when I was in middle school about if we could win them. Scrawny little kids, comparing theoretical fighting skills, no one demonstrating anything, only bravado. And, as usual, I felt left out. I can’t do anything. I had tried karate, couldn’t stick with it. I had already started doing early YouTube ab workouts to sculpt my pre-developed body into something desirable, before I even had a concept of what that meant, but I had no strength. I didn’t know anything about knives, or many poisonous plants, or anything that felt remotely useful for this theoretical battle to the death. And I still don’t.
I have a lot of self-perceived deficiencies when it comes to competitions that I would never enter. Let’s take life-or-death out of the situation. I’ve always known I could never win a pageant. Forget the looks (and it’s hard for me to forget the looks), I don’t have the talent. Like, one. And I sound like I’m fishing, and when I say this out loud my wonderful friends side-eye me. I have skills, sure. I can make an okay spreadsheet. I can improvise meals that make me happy. I’ve gotten better at lifting up barbells and after all this time, I still love writing. But what, my most insecure self asks, is the point of any of those if I couldn’t defend myself from trained teenage killers or to get a pretty crown? What if none of them mean I can win?
I’m afraid I have spent thirty years now skating by on just enough talent to fool people into believing in me. You think I’m a good cook because I whipped up a quick stir-fry? Well, that’s actually the only thing I’ve cooked for three weeks, and I’ve never developed further skills than chopping and sauteing. My spreadsheet was effective in organizing our footage? It’s a template I downloaded online and have made tiny adjustments to for five years. No matter what successes I have, I’m worried I’ve been a fraud, and that soon, I will be exposed.
I feel though, that the time for this way of thinking is coming to a close. I think maybe, now that I am thirty, I will try to see my skills and interests for what they are: enough to have gotten me to a place in my life where joy is more frequent than pain. And to remember that, if they truly are my interests, there is nothing stopping me from trying to grow them. What if I try more recipes, instead of improving in the kitchen? What if I start taking courses, what if I try new things? Obviously I’ve thought this for a long time, but it does feel like a change is taking place where, even if I lack confidence, I have reached my tolerance for my own bullshit and excuses. For God’s sake, Spotify let me know that my top song of the year is WHATCHU KNOW ABOUT ME by GloRilla ft. Sexxyy Red. I think I need to step into that energy fully.
I remember a guy I sort-of dated when I was younger who had an existential crisis on his 30th birthday. I was 24. I didn’t know what to tell him as he took me for an emotional ride of negligence and panic over his perceived lack of time left. Because I was 24. Anyways. I had made a promise to myself then to get my shit together enough by 30 to not be him. I could be a fuck-up in a myriad of ways, but not like that. And I’m exceedingly proud to say I achieved that. The only tears I shed yesterday were of joy, and contentment, and I let any droplets of disappointment or confusion slide off my back, because I am getting better at remembering that these pockets of light, even if they do not reflect my everyday existence, are more than once I could have ever asked for.
Here is an excerpt of some pretty terrible prose I wrote in April 2016, five months after I turned 20:
I don’t know what the weather was like on December 5, 2015, my 20th birthday. I do know how soft my mother’s shawl was, how warm the couch became, how often my muscles grew stiff from not moving. I know how dry my mouth was after hours of racking sobs. I don’t know if it was raining like it’s raining right now, in a fortress on the edge of Africa. I don’t know if the sun shone that day, I remember the weight of my eyelids after that song played on a loop from morning to sundown.
Without getting into the gory details, my 20th birthday was one of the worst days of my life. The fact that it is so hazy to me now is a blessing. I am so grateful for the fact that this pain has healed and that life has thrown so many more wonderful things my way. I still fuck up, badly. Often. I still feel so much pain, I still want to be so much better. I want to love, more than I ever have. Big loves are scary for me, I cower in their immensity and I will eventually be crushed under the weight of it or I will poke it and stab it to hurt them before they hurt me. But I’m a winter baby, it’s time to get cozy, before I can make my world big again I want to revel in the smallness, because that’s what so much of the pain of growing up is now. Small. Here are 30 small things I love, in honor of turning 30:
Scottish salted butter
Alpaca wool socks
Whimsical shaped string lights (i.e. citrus fruits and sunflowers)
Scented candles
Lace curtains
Whiskey sours
Musicals
Getting my nails done
Space Age decor
Rainstorms (only when I don’t need to go outside)
Movies that make me cry when I think about them the next day
When there are no men near the squat racks at the gym
Saunas
The Mediterranean
Driving with the windows down
The Lonely Island and Seth Meyers Podcast
That one really, really soft sleep shirt in my drawer
Marijuana
Lipliner
Perfumes with notes of cinnamon and palo santo
Footballer gossip
When my cat falls asleep in bed with me and is still there in the morning
Subways that come above-ground at a certain point (bonus points if it’s sunset and then the whole train is suddenly filled with golden light)
Coffee
Remembering I have this stupid blog/realizing that at least one person has read something of mine
Karaoke
Necklaces without clasps (I can’t open them with my nails)
Bay windows
Chili crisp
A really good cry
This, as usual, has been messy, not as planned out as I originally intended, but really fun for me. This next year is starting off big and this time next year…well, let’s check back then (or maybe before, if I remember that I have this sooner.)
