At 17 (Cue Janis Joplin)
The last few weeks, I've been pondering what it would be like to meet my 17-year old self again. A decade seems to have made all the difference. My intrinsic nature, quite logically, hasn't changed. But my opinions and attitudes to life, my self-perception... they've undergone drastic changes. And while that's surely a good thing, I do regularly try to tap back in to who I was when I was 17.
I remember the strong opinions I held and vowing to myself that I would never forget what I felt right there and then. And I haven't forgotten. I can recall the motivations behind those opinions, the emotions associated with them and can trace the changes all the way back to where I am today. On some things, I've blatantly taken a 180 degree turn. And while I feel I have done so with reason, I always wonder whether I would be able to explain myself to the 17-year old Le Pew.
If you could. Would you meet up with yerself? If you could go to dinner with who you were 10, 20, 30 years ago... would you? And if so, what would you try to convey to yourself, if anything at all?
I for one would like to go for dinner with Pew17, although the first issue would most likely be the choice of restaurant. Pew17 is a devoted vegetarian. I'm a reborn carnivore. However, since I'm the one most likely to pay for said meal, Pew17 will simply have to swallow the proverbial beef. I'd like to have a beer or perchance a glass of wine to accompany my meal, but Pew17 refuses alcohol or drugs of any kind. I'd confidently wear bootcut jeans, boots and a snug sleeveless top, while Pew17 is desperately trying to hide her (imaginary) Pluto-sized arse with a monstrously baggy T-shirt and one of dad's old jumpers.
Five minutes after the waitress has brought us our drinks, the ash-tray on the table will start to overflow with shredded napkin or beer cards. We're both fidgetters and it's highly likely that the labels will be peeled off both our drink bottles before the starter arrives. When the waitress walks past, we'll both sneak a quick peek at her bum. We'll feel slightly guilty at the overt sexism of our actions, but it's something we've never quite been able to control.
Pew17 will stare at me when I'm not looking, wondering how this could be her in a decade. She'll be disappointed with the fact that I've blatantly never had the guts to get a funkier hairstyle. Sad too, to see that the spots haven't all cleared. But happy that she'll succeed at shedding half a stone.
I know what the first question on her mind is. It's the one that'll keep her awake at night for another year or so. But she will wait to ask, as she's not sure I'd still understand. And I will wait to tell, as it's the topic most worth discussing. We'd need to ease into it.
I'll first tell her that I didn't become an astronaut. Not a space-engineer. No job at NASA. And that NASA disbanded the height-restrictions just before I went to uni, so that the choice not to become an astronaut, was entirely in my own hands.
She'll ask me how much longer she has to wait before she gets to move to Colorado. And I'd reply that we now have a rather distinct disdain for anything American. That the US flag got thrown in the bin a few months after we started uni. She'll growl at me. Tell me off for forgetting the promise I'd made to myself "not to settle for local". I'll tell her we didn't. That we left when we were 20 and only just properly returned a few months ago. And that it's been a fun - unamerican- wild ride.
She'll ask me who I vote for. And I would explain the concept of libertarianism. I would let her in on how things stopped being so black and white, just a few years ago. That opinions are not always a clear-cut thing. That she should watch Dogville, to understand what I mean. That it is possible for your gut to believe in one thing, but your mind to forfeit to another idea altogether. That the most important way to make a difference, is in first degree: by affecting those around you.
When my mobile phone rings, I'll pick up and say: "Hey babe! Can I ring you back in a wee hour? I'm having dinner just the now. Yeah, we're still at the restaurant. Uhuh. Yeah she ordered the vegetarian." She'll go quiet. I will let her mill it over. Then she'll take a deep breath and try: "Was that... your boyfriend?" I'll grin. "What do you think? What do you hope?"
She'll sigh and say that she honestly no longer knows what to hope for. I'll tell her it was my girlfriend and that she'd save herself a lot of time and energy, if she would only stop worrying about defining herself.
She'll scratch her neck, fiddle with her bottle and then she'll blurt out: "Does it ever get easy?" Yes it does. You'll learn to tune into yourself and pick it up in others. You'll learn not to fall for straight women. To not limit yourself to a label. To explore the fluidity of your sexuality without restraints. Without guilt. You'll figure out that you can be both genders, regardless of your sex. You'll figure out how not to be panicked by the stereotypes. How to work around them. To become your own definition. That the spectrum is there to move around on freely, without having to settle down.
She'll ask me for some advice. We've always had the inclination to skip to the final chapter of the book before starting page 1. I would like to tell her to be more lenient on others and to be kinder to herself. To ignore mirrors and explain to her the difference between good mirrors and bad ones. And that since the only good mirror is based in the toilets of a club in Dublin, all others are bound to make one look fatter than one really is, so it is best to ignore them altogether. I would like to tell her not to panic. To learn to count on herself. To never settle for second best. I would tell her to pay attention. That time goes by faster than she thinks. I'd tell her not to burn her diaries, because memory goes downhill fast. To not waste her time playing poker at the pub all day, the first year at uni. I'd tell her to trust her own instincts, because they never lead us astray.
That's the advice I'd like to share with her. But I won't. I need her to make the same mistakes all over again. To discover what I've learned. Changing her, would mean changing who I am today, and for the first time since long, I actually quite like me.
But I would tell her this, before parting ways:
"Your fear of loneliness is misdirected. What stifles you now, will become your drive. And the only thing holding you back, ever, is yourself."
As she slips onto her moped to set off home, I will shout after her: "And don't leave your moped at the house in France, once the house goes up for sale!!"
I remember the strong opinions I held and vowing to myself that I would never forget what I felt right there and then. And I haven't forgotten. I can recall the motivations behind those opinions, the emotions associated with them and can trace the changes all the way back to where I am today. On some things, I've blatantly taken a 180 degree turn. And while I feel I have done so with reason, I always wonder whether I would be able to explain myself to the 17-year old Le Pew.
If you could. Would you meet up with yerself? If you could go to dinner with who you were 10, 20, 30 years ago... would you? And if so, what would you try to convey to yourself, if anything at all?
I for one would like to go for dinner with Pew17, although the first issue would most likely be the choice of restaurant. Pew17 is a devoted vegetarian. I'm a reborn carnivore. However, since I'm the one most likely to pay for said meal, Pew17 will simply have to swallow the proverbial beef. I'd like to have a beer or perchance a glass of wine to accompany my meal, but Pew17 refuses alcohol or drugs of any kind. I'd confidently wear bootcut jeans, boots and a snug sleeveless top, while Pew17 is desperately trying to hide her (imaginary) Pluto-sized arse with a monstrously baggy T-shirt and one of dad's old jumpers.
Five minutes after the waitress has brought us our drinks, the ash-tray on the table will start to overflow with shredded napkin or beer cards. We're both fidgetters and it's highly likely that the labels will be peeled off both our drink bottles before the starter arrives. When the waitress walks past, we'll both sneak a quick peek at her bum. We'll feel slightly guilty at the overt sexism of our actions, but it's something we've never quite been able to control.
Pew17 will stare at me when I'm not looking, wondering how this could be her in a decade. She'll be disappointed with the fact that I've blatantly never had the guts to get a funkier hairstyle. Sad too, to see that the spots haven't all cleared. But happy that she'll succeed at shedding half a stone.
I know what the first question on her mind is. It's the one that'll keep her awake at night for another year or so. But she will wait to ask, as she's not sure I'd still understand. And I will wait to tell, as it's the topic most worth discussing. We'd need to ease into it.
I'll first tell her that I didn't become an astronaut. Not a space-engineer. No job at NASA. And that NASA disbanded the height-restrictions just before I went to uni, so that the choice not to become an astronaut, was entirely in my own hands.
She'll ask me how much longer she has to wait before she gets to move to Colorado. And I'd reply that we now have a rather distinct disdain for anything American. That the US flag got thrown in the bin a few months after we started uni. She'll growl at me. Tell me off for forgetting the promise I'd made to myself "not to settle for local". I'll tell her we didn't. That we left when we were 20 and only just properly returned a few months ago. And that it's been a fun - unamerican- wild ride.
She'll ask me who I vote for. And I would explain the concept of libertarianism. I would let her in on how things stopped being so black and white, just a few years ago. That opinions are not always a clear-cut thing. That she should watch Dogville, to understand what I mean. That it is possible for your gut to believe in one thing, but your mind to forfeit to another idea altogether. That the most important way to make a difference, is in first degree: by affecting those around you.
When my mobile phone rings, I'll pick up and say: "Hey babe! Can I ring you back in a wee hour? I'm having dinner just the now. Yeah, we're still at the restaurant. Uhuh. Yeah she ordered the vegetarian." She'll go quiet. I will let her mill it over. Then she'll take a deep breath and try: "Was that... your boyfriend?" I'll grin. "What do you think? What do you hope?"
She'll sigh and say that she honestly no longer knows what to hope for. I'll tell her it was my girlfriend and that she'd save herself a lot of time and energy, if she would only stop worrying about defining herself.
She'll scratch her neck, fiddle with her bottle and then she'll blurt out: "Does it ever get easy?" Yes it does. You'll learn to tune into yourself and pick it up in others. You'll learn not to fall for straight women. To not limit yourself to a label. To explore the fluidity of your sexuality without restraints. Without guilt. You'll figure out that you can be both genders, regardless of your sex. You'll figure out how not to be panicked by the stereotypes. How to work around them. To become your own definition. That the spectrum is there to move around on freely, without having to settle down.
She'll ask me for some advice. We've always had the inclination to skip to the final chapter of the book before starting page 1. I would like to tell her to be more lenient on others and to be kinder to herself. To ignore mirrors and explain to her the difference between good mirrors and bad ones. And that since the only good mirror is based in the toilets of a club in Dublin, all others are bound to make one look fatter than one really is, so it is best to ignore them altogether. I would like to tell her not to panic. To learn to count on herself. To never settle for second best. I would tell her to pay attention. That time goes by faster than she thinks. I'd tell her not to burn her diaries, because memory goes downhill fast. To not waste her time playing poker at the pub all day, the first year at uni. I'd tell her to trust her own instincts, because they never lead us astray.
That's the advice I'd like to share with her. But I won't. I need her to make the same mistakes all over again. To discover what I've learned. Changing her, would mean changing who I am today, and for the first time since long, I actually quite like me.
But I would tell her this, before parting ways:
"Your fear of loneliness is misdirected. What stifles you now, will become your drive. And the only thing holding you back, ever, is yourself."
As she slips onto her moped to set off home, I will shout after her: "And don't leave your moped at the house in France, once the house goes up for sale!!"
Labels: geek, Perception, Pew Life, weirdness
posted by Dr.Pew @ 9:55 pm
7 comments
