I have been 25 for almost ten years. Living in the irresponsibility of my mid-twenties was pretty fun for quite a while. If I could stay there, I would. But it seems that age has different plans for me. There was a time I could play a game of backyard football and laugh as the rest were complaining about knees, backs, shoulders, and any other joint that was aching or creaking. I watched from a safe distance the growth of families from friends that I grew up with. The guys that played tag and had snowball fights and played basketball and got wasted when the parents were out of town are now raising their own kids who will do all of those things. I get pictures of daughters off to kindergarten. The kids are getting older which means my friends are getting older which means I am getting older. I don't know that I can avoid it. I don't know that I can keep responsibility for my life at bay. I am constantly reminded by the gray hairs that are sprouting from my head.
These gray hairs are a reminder of all of the things that I have been through. The memories of our lives are part of us and the experiences we have had make us who we are. I regret some of the things I have done. I regret a great many things I have not done. But all of that is past. I can't change it. The hardest part for me has been to face it, to admit to it. I look at some of my unwise decisions and it can be hard to look in the mirror. Every time I do I have to see the skeletons that are stacked up, reminders of an idiot who didn't care as much as he should have about the people around him - or himself. Facing the ugly truth about me has altered the facade of who I thought I was.
I used to be an Aries, born in the year of the snake. I used to be a middle child who was the product of a divorce. I used to be the eternal 25 year old.
I used to be a series of excuses.
The thing about being made up of all of those things was that I carried no responsibility for my actions. I blamed my looming boredom, which threatens every relationship that I enter and everything I do, and the resulting fallout on my birth sign. When I got tired of a person or a hobby or a job, it was not my fault. I am an Aries. I could blame my parent's divorce for my own or being a middle child for my need for attention. I could blame everything I did on something that was out of my control. If I can't help it, I don't have to accept blame for it. That was my mind. That was a major part of who I was.
Seeing that makes me a little sick.
Seeing the way that I did things, unthinking and uncaring, makes me sad. There was a time when I was a "nice guy". I propagated that little mask of mine because I believed it. I don't think that I was as nice or as good as I would have liked to believe. I have kind of been a shit. And I can't do anything about it. Or is it, "But I can't do anything about it"?
The past is done and gone and is unchangeable. A major lesson learned for me. I have done shitty things. Those things were my fault, not my sign's or my family's or any other outside influence. Mine. I made choices based on what I wanted, or believed I wanted. Sometimes those things kicked me in the balls and left be crawling on the ground. Sometimes those choices left me drunk and suicidal. Some of them sit in the closet as skeletons that will never come out. All of them have made a part of who I am. I have actually started to see the lessons to be learned.
Maybe age is slowing me down a little bit. I am seeing what is important and I am learning from my mistakes and I am finding my own truths because I know that my life is my responsibility and I can't blame my unhappiness on anyone else, nor can I blame my happiness on anyone else. It's all mine. This seemingly apparent revelation is freeing. I have control. My life is mine. This is both daunting and elating.
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