This is possibly one of the most vulnerable posts I’ve written so far. Because this one all about me. As in, I’m not even going to try and deflect this into a conversation about the health system, or try on some poor man’s philosophy, or anything else like I usually do. I’m not even going to try to bring any sort of theory into it. This a full blown, stream of consciousness that could end up anywhere. Reader beware.
It’s because yesterday was my birthday. It always sends me into a super introspective and somewhat melancholy mood. I’m pretty sure this started in 2001. Spending my twentieth birthday reliving the footage of the 9/11 carnage kind of shifted my perspective. What do you mean I’m not the most important person in the world today? Don’t you know it’s my birthday? Yeah, doesn’t seem right when you’re watching something like that on replay.
My parents insisted we still go out for dinner, even though none of us felt like it. My brother and Dad had an epic fight. The kind where my brother insisted Dad pull over to let him out so he could storm along the footpath in rage. And this was before we even made it to dinner! Hands down the worst Thai meal I’ve ever endured. So yeah, pretty much every birthday since then has just felt really forced and uncomfortable.
I don’t feel down about getting older. At least, I don’t think that’s what it is. Because I certainly wasn’t phased about being older when I was in my 20’s and still didn’t like celebrating it. I think its the attention and the expectation that I’m supposed to have a great day or something. The forced phone calls that just make me feel awkward and conflicted, knowing that it’s really nice that someone’s taken a moment out of their day to think of me. I don’t make it easy for those who love me sometimes.
I’m pretty comfortable with the idea of being 43. Well, that’s what I tell myself and anyone who asks. I’m definitely not one of those ‘perpetually 33 types’. But I’m starting to wonder if perhaps the true picture is a bit more complicated than that. Because while I’m very comfortable, happy in fact, with the idea of my intellect being 43, I’m not so sure about how I feel about my physical self. But that’s too deep and complicated for me to get into now. I tried it, and moved it to drafts. I don’t know if I’m ready for that level of vulnerability yet.
Instead I’m going to retreat a little bit into my safety zone and talk about music.
This morning there was an interview with Snow Patrol frontman Gareth Lightbody on the breakfast news. They asked him if he ever gets sick of playing Chasing Cars, and he explained how much joy it gives him being in a venue with a whole crowd of people singing out loud.
For many years, I have shunned that song. But it didn’t start that way. When I first listened to their album Eyes Open, I loved it. I listened to it constantly. Felt everything. Amazing. What music is supposed to do.
Then bloody Grey’s Anatomy came in and ruined it with their stupid musical episode.
Everywhere you went from then on, Snow Patrol was playing. There was nothing cool about listening to a relatively unknown Scottish band in Australia anymore, because they had gone mainstream. Everyone was listening to that fucking song. And I don’t think I listened to it ever since.
So today, on my walk into work, it was my soundtrack.
As I was listening to Open Your Eyes, a guy walked by wearing a t-shirt with “Be Creative and Make Cool Stuff” written on it.
It was a good reminder.
Mainstream stuff can still be creative and cool. What have I got to gain from being so judgemental all the time?
While I miss certain aspects of my younger self, it’s not the person I want to be anymore. I don’t want to shun things I enjoy because others also enjoy it. I don’t want to avoid doing certain things because I’m afraid of how I’ll look. I don’t want to be held back by the frameworks and versions of me that others want to confine me to.
If I do, I’m the one that’s going to miss out. Like I’ve been missing out by not having Set Fire to the Third Bar in my life since 2006. If I’m midway through life (hopefully), I might as well make the most of the other half.
That’s a rough hand dealt with the birthdays.
Music isn’t the only thing that’s cool when no one knows what it is.
A few years back, I was a Deadpool fan. Because no one had any idea who Deadpool was. And then they made a movie. At first I was super stoked. Until it sank in that The entire world loved Ryan Reynolds SO MUCH that it now sucked for me.
I’m back to being a Deadpool fan, but there was a middle section where the mainstream bullshit of it made me pretty upset with the whole thing.
I resonate with this a lot. My birthdays have always been a complicated thing for me, and my version of Snow Patrol was Linkin Park, whom I saw open for a totally embarrassing band I won’t mention at a tiny venue before they were known. So I claimed them… then, so did everyone else. But I was *special* you know. Broody. Mysterious. I couldn’t be basic by listening to them.
Even though I still totally did when I was alone in my room with no one in the house.
Maybe I’ll go listen to them in celebration of your birthday. I hope it was a good one. 🥂