Birthday Candles

The conundrum of age and wisdom, and whether or not these grow together in person, has been confounding me lately. I've been plagued by significant decisions which need to be made lately, the kind that aren't life changing but life altering. Minor ideas that permeate a greater expanse than I'd like have found themselves situated comfortably in the forefront of my mind. I've woken up at 2 in the morning constraining to find clarity in a head full of thoughts, thought patterns, and menial lyrics from songs that are far too catchy; unable to sleep because I can't come to a neatly, organised resolution in all of it.

"Oh bother!" I've cried (in denser terms). I've wretched at my complete inability to come a point of absolute truth in  decision. I'm caught in the tension of yes's and no's. Of maybe's and why not's. Of 'it means nothing' to 'it means absolutely everything'. What's happening? Where are my days of sweet smiles and understanding paths. Of clear choices based on what's right and wrong and probably not a good idea anyway.

I stir relentlessly at all of this. I'm someone who enjoys the manner of boundaries, rules, mutual understandings and agreements on the 'right way'. However lately the right way has turned into a contorted maze of contradictory voices and thoughts. Why can't I solve all my problems? Why can't everything just have an answer? Why can't an issue be resolved and become a mere 'learning experience' that can never be endured again?

Perhaps. Because. Some problems, just can't be solved. And growing up is realising this. Perhaps because the increased number of 'problems' has increased at general pace with my entrance into the 'grown up world'. The world where bitter heart ache, turmoil and stupidity, can't be disguised by a story book or an age restriction. A world where decisions do have to be made, not by a guardian, a parent, an older friend, but by my own self. Perhaps, I'm growing up. I'm aging - in the meaning that with age comes wisdom, an innate understanding that some things don't make sense but we make do anyway. And perhaps this is a problem that can't be solved.

Age. It's not a number. But an intrinsic truth. An innate understanding that comes with years lived on earth. Where emotionally you believe in things that don't need solving. That don't need to be in squares, have ruled lines, and can dwell in mystery with a complete comfortability. There is admiration in the blank, in the unknown, in the deepest of the depths. I think there's beauty in the steps of a person who's not entirely sure but has conviction enough to engage with it anyway. Who makes decisions with full intent of good, but understands that some things may not work out that way.

If I could have my life laid out for me, with neat arrows, diagrams, and bullet points, I'd gladly accept it. I'd map it out and look for the exciting parts, dread the sad, and save for the poor. But life is not like that. And with reason. Despite my dismay and despondence, there is a gorgeous illuminance in all of this. I'm still going to wake up in frustration because I can't make a decision. I'm still going to get upset at myself because the self is the biggest problem that can't be solved. I'm still going to cry "oh bother!" (in even denser terms) when things just don't go 'my way'. But I will learn from it. And although each process probably won't end up neatly packed in a box, left in the attic of life to draw when I need it, in fact some problems may never end, I'll at least console myself with understanding the inevitable.

I'm only 19. Yup. 19. And I have so many more problems to encounter it's daunting. But I'm ready. I feel like the last twelve months added years of age onto me, or perhaps I just encountered the real world for the first time. The biggest problem I wish I could solve - would, as I said, be myself. Entrench my heart onto one point and just exist from there on; live less regretfully and with more conviction. With more authenticity in a world that chooses to solve problems by merely creating more. But it's not that easy. I'm only 19. I feel 25, perhaps sometimes I act like I'm 15. I wish I was rather 21. I dream of being 22. I looking forward to being 50. But it means nothing when confronted with the significance of what these ages will mean to me, and my life, at that time. Will my problems be solved?
No.
But I'll be old enough to deal with it.