Beyond the Wall.

Day 10,957 of being a girl.

According to many, today is the day that I cease to exist. That is, this is the day men stop giving me attention and the day my state of fertility begins to fall into question. Thus it is called “hitting the wall.” Luckily, chaptering your life in such a way always seemed absurd to me so rather than that, I’ve always thought of thirty as… “I’m going to plan for things up until that point and if I make it that far, I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.” So here I am at the wall, opening the door to a bridge into the mysterious beyond. 

(My “turning 30” party song of choice.)

Backing up a bit, technically one could say I only really planned up until twenty-five, that is, “college plus three years.” And I did. I went to the college I wanted to go to, studying the thing I wanted to study, playing the sport I wanted to play. I graduated early immediately getting the job I’d been preparing to have and at twenty-four (a year ahead of schedule) I became a manager at a music venue… hated it… quit after eight months… and have been on the road more or less ever since. So the second half of my twenties involved around the amount of improvisation as I thought it would. Wasn’t planning on a global pandemic but even that worked out. I went to grad school… realized it was mostly useless… dropped it after a year and went back on tour. 

Even this past summer I thought about hanging up my boots and getting off the road because… not getting any younger, right? Applied to a great many “real jobs” that happen in one place for a specified amount of hours a day that come with health insurance and a 401k. I got an apartment and furniture like a “real person.” And then… I got a tour offer… followed by a basket of other tour offers all without really trying. And here I am back out on the road surrounded by a cast of new characters that both irritate and amuses me, shiny apartment no doubt gathering dust. You see a theme playing out here. 

My mother in particular has asked me many times what the end game is with all of this. How long am I to spend gallivanting around the world doing god knows what for god knows who? When will I accept Jesus into my life to heal my wandering soul that is searching for… something… out here on the open road?

I have thought from time to time that I am running away. From what? Normalcy, probably. I remain purposely unpartnered, after all. I have before me no task of building a life with anyone. My family is healthy. I have no obligations to anyone aside from myself. If I slow down, if I come to a complete stop, will I feel lonely? Adrift? Left out? Will I have regrets? Will I crumble? Will I have a crisis of conviction? Or am I out here because, for whatever reason, that is simply what I am drawn to and what - I’ve been told - I’m very good at. 

At first, I was driven by a desire to prove myself to others. I was successful. Next, I was driven by a desire to prove myself… to myself. And that was also fairly successful. And really only recently have I made a true mental transition to instead be driven by genuine curiosity and a sense of adventure or challenge. Like some type of daredevil, I want to climb the metaphorical Mt. Everest simply because it is there. On a personal level, I find that exhilarating. But I also find that this isn’t a feeling shared by anyone I’ve grown to know. And that is the trigger for any and all creeping self doubts where I wonder if I’m doing this all wrong.  

Maybe beyond the wall, I’ll encounter such people similar to myself and our friendship will be one of great legend. Is that too much to hope for? Will I run out of steam before I get there? Will misfortune strike in a way I can’t recover from? I do not know. Even if it did, a new journey would still await. But this way of life I’ve found myself in has proven to be one I can’t drop just because I’ve reached some imaginary landmark. I think anything other than a true sense of thorough mastery will keep me on this path. And as of yet, I haven’t been convinced there is such thing as a true master. There is no point at which I will know all there is to know. Like numbers, it goes on and on into infinity. Whether that be concert production or writing or learning a new language or playing a new instrument… encountering new people along the way. 

I’m thirty years old and I’m being told it is time to slow down but I feel like I’ve only just acquired the tools to accelerate as much as I want with enough knowledge under my belt to not crash into a wall. 

Ah, there it is again, “wall” popping up in a metaphor. So I’ll rephrase that. 

I feel like I’ve only just acquired the tools to accelerate as much as I want with enough knowledge under my belt to know that the this “wall” the gods of our collective psyche have warned about is, in reality, a simple line in the sand that I am being incessantly dared to cross. And I shall do so with ease on the thirtieth birthday of me.