Alas, I am finally 21, a legal adult in every country. I had the best birthday, thank you for asking. Jetting off to New York and meeting my wonderful and slightly odd family and, of course, Alex. We stayed a stone’s throw away from Central Park and drank copious amounts of prosecco. On the night of my 21st, we went to a rooftop bar and sat in blue heated igloos with a misty view of the Empire State building. It was wonderful and exciting and I enjoyed it lots and lots.
But moving on to a slight existential crisis, I’ve lost my spark and I’m not sure where I put it. Have you ever had that? It’s a feeling that you’re not working towards anything of significant purpose, that you’ve lost the individual quirkiness that you bring to a situation. Something just isn’t quite right. It’s an anecdote I’ve discussed with Sophie before, that I know I am powerful and strong and I’m trying very hard to step into it but the shoes don’t fit. When I put the jacket on and lift the hair out of the collar, I don’t like the way it feels – it’s wrong. I’m working hard to make my way back to it but it can be disheartening, remembering a version of yourself who felt an emphatic joy to be doing the things you loved. Maybe it’s because I am so far away from home, over four and a half thousand miles. Travelling is lonely and you can find many good articles about the feeling of isolation. It can be disappointing when everyone else is having the same experience as you but feeling completely different.
Have no fear, I will find my way back to it. Perhaps I should Marie Kondo, Queer Eye or Six Methods it, but for now my perpetual impatience is making this process seem too long. No snapping fingers and it’s back. Now that I am 21, I’ve got the key of the door. Maybe I’m about to unlock the answer to this muddle I’m in.