for the last few years, i’ve found myself taking up the practice of resolutions.
used to spending decembers cocooning in varying degrees of seasonal depression, it was a way to encourage an end to that bleak state in favour of an intentional, better, more purposeful, tomorrow.
today, looking at my 2023 resolutions for the first time since writing them, i’m starked by their dramatic-ness. not only due to the number (30!!!!! to mark the start of my thirtieth year alive) but also in ambition, from ‘connect to god’ to ‘publish a book’ to ‘learn how to say no to people’, i entered the year with big goals. whilst some came into being (thank FUCK for no longer being addicted to vaping, peak loser behaviour) most still remain unfulfilled. regardless, i’m aware i should cherish other accomplishments, such as unpredicted work opportunities and unexpected global relocations.
for the past week i’ve been attempting to keep up my resolution-writing tradition to welcome 2024 the right way, but have found myself stunted. not sure how much of it has to do with the familiarity of seasonal depression being replaced by unprecedented december summertime sadness and how much of it has to do with a strong feeling of regression i’ve been sitting with, which feels antithetical to resolutions.
for the first time in years, after building a career where i was making money out of commissioned articles and public speaking, i’ve gone back to working in hospitality and being just as bad at it as i was when i was doing it as a fresher at uni, able to hold a job primarily thanks to queer charisma.
for the first time in years, after telling myself i would never study ever again, i’ve gone back to browsing university websites on a weekly basis, debating whether putting myself in more student debt is the solution to my problems.
for the first time in years, after a significant time of proudly and visibly presenting as trans, i’ve also gone back to predominantly navigating the world read as a “boy”.
regression in itself feels terrifying.
we were never encouraged to take a step back instead of one forward. we are meant to navigate life perpetually focusing on the next stage: getting a job promotion, buying a house, moving in together, solidifying our identity, etc etc.
going against that cycle can’t help but feel like failure.
despite my years of unlearning capitalistic brainwashing whereby i know it’s lowkey all bullshit, watching those around me build (what appear to be) more secure futures whilst i actively do-not-do-that is harder than i thought it’d be. the part of my brain that has to remind me “it’s all a social construct” is kinda tired.
i think i i feel like i’m regressing also because i get mistaken for a 20 year old constantly. from the girls at the club, from my actually 20 year old colleagues, from queers in their thirties.
whilst there’s a sentiment of flattery there, i can’t help but feel a sense of shame unearthing when this happens. i can’t help but feel like it’s less to do with my looks and more to do with my recklessness. at face value, i’m some kid who just moved to australia, works hospo jobs, doesn’t drive, is single, rents a room and is stalling their entry into adulthood. from a societal point of view, those are acceptable conditions for a person who’d be about a decade younger than i am.
however, in a lot of ways, a “return” to my (early) twenties is exactly what i need(ed).
one of my most prominent sources of grief is surrounding the life i led (/didn’t lead) when i was 20. i ache for the level of repression i held. i ache for my lack of experimentation, my lack of indulgence, my lack of dancing. and whilst i will never get those years back, i’m allowing myself to tap into them. i’m allowing myself to explore some of the “what-ifs” that have been tormenting me:
what if i was queer “boy” in their twenties?
what if i went on a gap year?
what if i prioritised joy?
so, whilst i sometimes find myself berating the fact that after 30 years i still feel like i’m figuring it all out, i also welcome the breadth of opportunities being somewhat direction-less keeps on gifting me.
making choices that felt like “regression” is one of the bravest things i’ve ever done. giving up on stability in exchange of honesty felt like self sabotage. but, regardless of whichever precarious conditions i may find myself in, being brave will actually always feel like progression more than it will regression.
my efforts towards writing up my 2024 new year’s resolutions are still very much ongoing HOWEVER i have devised an in & out list:
🤭
Get in loser, we’re regressing. Loved this a lot!!