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On the cusp of a chilly autumn, I mourn the summer and its hot, beating sun. The resident red-tailed hawk flies by, saying its goodbyes. Summer has come and gone, once again.
I know I should know better. I should be prepared when things come to an end. I should notice the signs. You would think that after almost 19 summers, autumns, winters, and springs melding from one to the other, ends and beginnings, again and again, I would know better.
I don’t.
It feels abrupt. There is that deep feeling of some unknown force taking something I love from my struggling grip; the feeling I got no closure at all. The shock and the sadness are relentless. It’s not fair.
The same happens with everything else — classes, teams, friendships.
Every time I become used to something, it’s ripped away from me like a favourite toy from a misbehaving kid.
Why is nothing permanent? I would appreciate the feeling of safety and steadiness. I’m sick of the wild and the unexpected.
The truth is the feeling at the start of anything — which should be the opposite of that of the end — is also often tarnished.
Starting a new job, a new year, a blossoming friendship, a new experience.
The beautiful feeling of new beginnings…
Except it’s not.
Because it’s being polluted by fear and anxiety, of how I won’t know it all, or be completely perfect. Meeting new people and getting them to like me. Trying to be perceived in a positive light and trying to be everything I’m not: confident, well-spoken, eloquent.
These feelings continue, and suddenly it nears the end. I should feel pleased, because that means these terrible, terrible feelings will soon be over, no?
No.
I want time to slow down. I was just getting the hang of it. I was getting comfortable knowing people and being known.
Then it’s over, the same familiar aching feeling. And it starts again. A never-ending cycle.
God, when did I become such a pessimist?
In middle school, I gave a speech to my classmates titled: “See the Glass Half-Full: My Guide to Living a Positive Life,” as if I knew anything about life at the ripe age of 12.
People knew me for my positivity, enthusiasm, and bright wide smiles. A mere two years later, I remember soberly telling my friend that I no longer was the “sunshine girl” from before.
But perhaps this younger, more naive version of me, who had seen less, actually knew more.
Because being miserable has brought me nothing.
But I continue to err just as times ere.
I complained and whined like an overgrown spoiled child at being a part of the dance team at my university last year. Joining was my choice because I love dancing, but I nitpicked everything from commuting to the off-campus studio to the choreography, to the few hours I would have to give up of my Sundays. Then all of it was gone within the flash of stage lights and the twirl of a costume. It was all over.
I used to hate the prospect of doing virtual school for two years during the height of the pandemic. It had its disadvantages, but that was all I saw. I saw that I missed out on social interaction with my peers and teachers. There was no school community to feel a part of, and I was bored at home every second of every day. Little did I know a couple of years later, I would be wistful at the prospect of spending that sort of time with my mom and sister again. Just the three of us, peas in a pod, coming up with something to do each day.
Everything will eventually come to an end. Life is a collection of ends and beginnings, beginnings and ends. It’s inevitable.
Wouldn’t taking the time to enjoy the experience, the road, the journey, soften the blow of its eventual, inevitable end?
Probably not, that bittersweet feeling will always be present, it’s one of the defining qualities of life. But the experience would have become sweeter.
I turned 19 a week ago while doomscrolling through Instagram, overdosing on dopamine from mindless content— my favourite self-destructive habit. After gaining consciousness after multiple hours of being in a numbing haze, I decided to simply not be miserable, to not hate myself for not entering the 19th year of my life, being perfectly organized, and disciplined, with an established routine, perfect habits, productive, self-assured, calm. It was freeing, to not beat myself up and instead try to help myself by getting ready for bed. Before lying down, I grabbed a Sharpie and wrote on a green Post-It note: “19 is letting go, 19 is being free,” and then knocked out immediately.
I’m giving this way of thinking a try.
Simply existing, taking it day by day. Not overanalyzing every situation, criticizing myself for every social interaction, hyper-focusing on everything I do wrong, constantly thinking about ways I can improve, waiting on the perfect moment, being scared of beginnings and ends if that means that I’m paralyzed and unable to get anything done. I want to live my life, fall down, get back up, learn and grow, and have fun.
Now, when my trio friend group — now all legal age — is heading downtown to go to a bar, “Del’s” as they call it, I’m not engulfed by fear at the new experience, but rather approaching it with an open mind. Then, when we are waiting in line for nearly two hours, I’m enjoying their company, playing a game of rating people’s outfits as they walk past, making silly comments, taking selfies, and laughing when one of my friends pulls out her Amino-Acid Quiz game on her phone. When it’s 1:18 AM and we decide that we’re probably not going to be able to get inside the bar, I savour that moment too. When we’ve Ubered back to our apartment and ended the night by eating cake in our unfurnished living room, talking about funny things we’ve done as children, I reflect on the evening with fondness, not thinking about how much of a loser we might’ve looked like, but embracing the somewhat comical situation and feeling grateful for my friends.
I’m trying to get comfortable with the fact that I’m not perfect, and that life isn’t perfect. Perhaps, putting that behind me and simply putting effort into the things I care about without first spending hours on end devising a plan, might be a better use of my time. I’m not perfect at this, but I think that’s the point. I’m trying to unlearn things I’ve spent years teaching myself. I don’t know if this approach is correct, but I’m trying to be okay with not knowing.
Life is unexpected. It takes surprising turns — sometimes for better, sometimes for worse. A lot is out of our control. However, as my 12-year-old self would say, what would help is to approach things with positivity, try to live in the moment, and savour everything, big and small. Be excited by beginnings, enjoy the course of the experience, reflect with gratitude at the end, and know that there will always be another beginning. It may not be the same experience, or elicit the same feelings, but it will be a beginning.
I’m only 19. I don’t know anything, but I do know that life is a collection of beginnings and ends, ends and beginnings. Good things will start, and bad things will end. Bad things will start, and good things will end. The only thing we can do is to enjoy the ride.
