Rerun: The You You'll Become
When will we rest?
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Growing up, I had strong feelings about school — namely, I didn’t like it. The structure of an 8-3 day, the clocks with that gliding second hand that ticks at an aggressive volume, the smell of a desk’s metal legs … these things alone were enough to make me feel trapped. On top of that, I guess I probably had social anxiety and your typical insecurities. Figuring out exactly why I was so against school might be helpful to me even now, since I still have many of the triggers from it in my psyche.
For example, young boys ages 13 to 17 can be very intimidating to me. When I’m near a group of them, I feel myself shift into a defensive mindset. I’m careful not to look stupid or fall because god forbid some little dude half my age peacock in front of his friends and say something cruel.
Another example is how my yearly rhythm is still synced to the school’s calendar year. When late August arrives, I feel a strong sense of dread and loss. In my heart, something special is coming to an end. I don’t think that my heart has gotten the memo that I’m a full-grown adult who could theoretically go to the pool on a weekday in September.
At the other end, I am equally elated when we reach Memorial Day weekend in the calendar, because it means the end is very nigh, if not already behind us. There’s of course a lot to be said for longer days and warmer weather, but there’s also the faintest lingering recollection of the sweetness of the end itself. When the school year was complete, I was untouchable. There’d be no demands, no forced interactions, no repetitive routines. I let go of my anxieties in one great big exhale. It felt good to stand at the end and look back at what I accomplished, even though I had really dreaded it, and to know that I had grown and changed since the beginning.
That reminds me of a quote I have written in my journal:
“You’re not as good as the You you’ll become once you’ve written the thing.”
It’s from an interview I read with author Mary H. K. Choi, who is throwing in her two cents of advice for writers, and encourages the “vomit draft” — a version number one that is going to suck but must get done first in order to get to the good stuff.
I couldn't remember where the quote came from before today, only that I accidentally open my journal to it all the time because it’s on one of those pages that’s a little extra worn in and easy to flip to. Out of context, it takes on a broader meaning for me, one that applies not just to writing but to any activity. I will be a different me after I cook this pasta, take this walk, or call my grandma. The differences are very tiny, but they’re there because I’m a few moments changed. Hopefully I’m wiser, or have had a new thought, or enjoyed something from a fresh perspective.
No matter the size of the thing you write — a book or a haiku — the quote still applies. I write things all the time, but I hardly ever take a moment to enjoy being on the other side of it. Finishing a school year or a quarter at college is maybe the only thing I can recall where I gave myself the deserved pause of completion. There was never a rush to anticipate or prepare for the next year of classes. Instead it was like the software was uninstalled during summer break. The work wasn’t accessible to my mind.
Now I cannot even close the software. When I finish something, my gaze immediately falls to my to-do list. I’m always searching for the next thing to complete, and very bad at stopping to say, “Damn, my dude, look what you did!” The result is an eternal foggy rush, something like an exam week I haven’t begun to study for.
I’m addicted to accomplishing things. I love the idea of becoming the self I’ll be after the fact, but I haven’t built time into my schedule to acknowledge that new self. What is the day- or week-size release that can punctuate the end of a project the way that summer vacation does a school year? Maybe I’m waiting for someone else to congratulate me for my work, to tell me I’ve earned a break and that I’m off for the summer.
This is real solid! Congrats. :)
This is extra wonderful. Fabulous insights!