To the World on my thirtieth birthday HEATHER DAVIS
I'm thirty now, which has allowed me a new perspective on life along with a slight melancholy for the viewpoints that are behind me and can only be visited like ghosts through seances with my photo albums and piles of hand-scribbled journals.
I think the twenties are a fine time to experience the world. They are a time to ponder many viewpoints. They are a time to discover what kind of a person you are.
This morning, as I review my resume, I see several years of teaching, both indoors and out, and a myriad of storytelling, writing, and radio experiences. Yes, I think. This reflects who I am.
For a long time, my resume read like a career counsellor's list of options: snowshoe guide, elementary school tutor, waitress, camp counsellor.
It was a few pixels, but not a whole picture.
I recall a job interview for an educational position at a museum.
"What do you think is the ideal job?" one man asked me.
"Peter Gzowski," I replied, tongue in cheek.
"That's radio," he said. "That doesn't have anything to do with museums."
Bewildered by his serious response, I had to agree.
I am a writer and as such, consider that at thirty, I am just beginning to season. A writer is a crop that takes a long time to ripen and even longer to harvest. Especially one who writes about life. However long we live, our lives are never mastered, only drafted and rewritten day in and day out.
At thirty, I see that my life is whatever I want it to be. It can be anything that I imagine as long as my bravery matches my ambition. My bravery comes from the feeling in my gut warning me that time is finite and not to be wasted.
Now that I finally have a grasp on who I am, I am ready to address this feeling that has been strong inside me since I first began to think and feel the world. The feeling that grew when I discovered my capability for creativity and boldness.
I need to contribute to the world. I need to make a difference. Now is the time to take my beliefs which have been solidifying throughout my twenties. Now is the time to use my actions as a voice for what I believe in.
I care about the world. I care about children. I care about people and the environment. I care about wilderness and ever-growing landfills. I care about writing and teaching. I care about stories.
I feel that there is something important for me to do.
One of the things I learned in my twenties is that I wasn't like everybody else. I learned that this was okay and that I had certain gifts and certain troubles. I also learned that nobody was exactly like anyone else.
I learned that the easiest things to do weren't always the things that made me happy. I learned that self-esteem wasn't something you happened to have, but something you built.
I've chased enough dreams to know that reaching an objective is not as magically life-changing as one might imagine. But I've begun to see that there is a community of people in the world who, one might say, really participate.
There are authors, musicians, environmentalists, researchers, politicians – all movers and shakers who influence our world. And there is enough room in the world for all these people and me. Jealousy is futile. The world has an infinite number of positions available for people who want to do great things.
But I still fear that I will never find my niche.
Now that I'm thirty, the world is my world. It's no longer the moon outside my bedroom window. It's what I see when I open my eyes in the morning. The people who help turn the world round – they are my peers. I read their stories in magazines and hear them on the radio.
They are my doctors and my veterinarians. They make dot-com business deals, buy real estate, have children, and get divorced.
Turning thirty means having new power. It means being in the game, not eating popcorn or doing the wave from the stands. My whole generation is becoming more prominent everyday. The generation that uses the Internet without thinking twice. The generation that knows that work isn't everything. The generation that wants to retire in twenty years. Will we? I don't know.
But my generation knows that time allows for experiences which create memories and character, and that, at the end of the day, these are more valuable than money.
My generation doesn't expect the world to stand still. My generation thrives on change. Or maybe I'm just talking about myself. I don't know. After all, I have moved almost every year since leaving home.
What I do know is that I will probably never wear high heels or get my ears pierced. I will never win the Olympics, but I will always participate in the game. I will wear pig tails and braids as long as I have hair, go for walks in the forest as long as there are trees, listen to CBC until the Alliance gets in, and I will always write.
As a writer turning thirty, I feel like I am coming into my own voice. There are writers who are ready at fourteen and others who find their way at seventy. For me it is a life-long compulsion to put pen to paper or more often now, soft fingers to mouse and keyboard.
I do know that this feeling in my gut won't go away. It propels me to do things, take action, push the limits of my world. To see what is beyond my walls.
It's the fear that I might bide my time too long and waste it all. It's the knowledge that I could do something great, but the panic of not knowing exactly what.
I think I'm getting closer to finding my way. My voice is clearer now. I know who I am. Instead of seeing others as my elders who are more capable of doing practically everything, I have started to see them as my peers. And as the world turns day in and day out, I feel both compelled and entitled to add my voice to the chorus. The chorus that is made up of a multitude of voices speaking their own personal truths.
Turning thirty, peer pressure loses a bit of its grip. The need to be accepted lessens while the need to be true to yourself grows stronger. I no longer want to be Peter Gzowski. It's more important and satisfying to be me.
So, watch out world because everyday I throw away a pair of glasses I was handed at birth. Everyday I am less likely to fit in. And when I fall off the road completely it will be because I've finally found the faint traces of my own path through the forest. The path that will lead me and my pig tails up my own mountains.
And one day I hope to stand atop the mountain in my mind and feel in my gut and my heart that I was everything I could be.
I'm not there yet, but I've packed my bag and I'm on my way.
Copyright © 2001 Heather Davis/Log Cabin Chronicles/03.01 |
