Rejoice

You know… I’ve been thinking of “boredom” all wrong. Now, if you’ve read this blog at all, you’ve probably noticed that my most frequent complaint is that I’m bored. But, thanks to Eat Pray Love (which I just finished about twenty minutes ago) I found a completely different way to think of boredom. What is boredom, anyways? It’s having nothing to do. Or, in my case, it’s not wanting to do anything out of the options I have (and trust me, I have a lot of options). So usually I simply complained about the fact that I had nothing to do. Which would be fine… if I had no problem with acting like a spoiled little brat and making everyone listen to my whining. Then I read this: il bel far niente. Translated from Italian, it means “the beauty of doing nothing.”

I stared at that page for a minute, thinking Oh yeah. If I think of boredom as unpleasant, then it is. It’s all about perspective. …I’m an IDIOT, aren’t I? That was what ran through my head, and then another Italian phrase from Under the Tuscan Sun followed after. Festina tarde, or “make haste slowly.”  I wasn’t, and I’m still not, quite sure how the two are related. But they both drove home a point similar to one in a poem that Ms. Lohse read to us. If anyone remembers, the poem was about a man looking out on springtime, watching all the beautiful things around him, and then he thinks: “If I’m unhappy, it’s my own fault.”

If I’m bored, then isn’t that good? It means I have nothing I need to do, no obligations I have to take care of. It means I have the wonderful luxury of being able to do nothing. And if I’ve got a problem with it, then I also have the ability to do something. No one is forcing me to be bored out of my mind. If I don’t enjoy being bored, then I don’t have to be. I realize that in making this very simple (and very obvious) point, I’m just using a ton of quotes and italics. But honestly, I don’t know how else to express it. Now that I’ve realized this, I’m wondering why the heck it took me so long.

Right now, I’m feeling rather sick (stuffy nose, sore throat, plugged ears, a typical nasty cold with occasional coughing) and typing. It’s the 4th of July (yay! let’s celebrate the birth of our idiotic country! Meh… at least it’s fun.) But the thought that keeps on running through my head is: this could be a lot worse. I’ve got internet, I’ve got most of my family, I’ve got access to cake, I just celebrated my birthday… this could be a lot worse. Whereas usually what I’m thinking in this type of situation is: Ugh, this sucks. Why do I have to be sick now? But hey, I find it rather hard to be pessimistic after watching fireworks. You know how I think people should settle wars? Compete to see who can put on the best fireworks display. There’re still explosives, except no one dies because of them and they’re all pretty and sparkly. Oh wow… I sound like such a girl… but they are pretty and they are sparkly and I really like them and I’m a girl anyways so there.

Since I never have birthday parties anymore, I want to do something that will mark the fact that I just got through the best and worst year of my life so far. I want to do something that signifies that it’s done. That I’m moving forward now. I could care less about the fact that I’m turning 15. I care about what that 15 signifies. It means I’ve had another year of experiences. Another part of my life that I should treasure for the simple fact that I lived it.

When I was little, every year I would think, “when I die, I want to be this age for eternity.” I don’t know how I got the idea that there’d be an afterlife and I’d get to pick what age I would be when I got there, but that was what I believed. And while most of me isn’t sure what I believe anymore, there’s still a tiny bit of that little kid inside me. Every year on my birthday, it asks me: what age do you want to be forever?

The last time I answered the age I’d been throughout the last year, the age I would be until I blew out the candles on my cake, I was nine. When I was turning nine, I wanted be eight forever. When I was turning eight, I wanted to be seven forever. But when I was turning eleven, I didn’t want to be ten forever. When I was turning thirteen, I didn’t want to be twelve forever. No, the happiest year I remembered was still nine. But this year, for the first time in five years, I’m going to answer “I want to be fourteen.” I’m not going to think “I’m just glad this year is over, no way would I want to stay this age for eternity,” like I have the past few years.

This year, for me, has been both the best and worst of my life. Divorce is, to children, hell. Absolute and utter hell. But this year, I finally got what I’ve been wanting for years. I have a group of friends whom I love dearly. I started actually looking forward to going to school this year, because it meant I’d be with everyone. It was also a considerable improvement over the state of affairs at home. I also started writing my novel, which is easy to overlook but important to my happiness. I also figured out that I want to be a pastry chef, which explains a lot about my past behavior.

The happiness and sadness in my life this year wasn’t “balanced” or anything like that. They were both just… there. Separate events and feelings that were both completely apart and certifiably existing in their own right. I’m not quite sure how to explain it, but I feel like I learned more this year, loved more this year, and lived more this year than any other time in my life. So when that little voice asks “what age do you want to be?” I’m going to reply with complete confidence “Fourteen.”

And I’m going to celebrate that. I’m not going to have a party, though, and it may not be on my actual birthday if I’m still sick in two days. But when I do celebrate, it’s going to be fun. It’s going to be happy. I’m going to give myself permission to do whatever I want. If I want to listen to every single song I like, even if it takes hours, then I will. If I want to bake myself a birthday cake, then I will. If I want to bake three birthday cakes just to prove I can, then I will. If I want to write five different stories and finish none of them, then I will. If I want to listen to all my favorite music, make three birthday cakes, and write five different stories all in the same day, you can bet I’m going to try to. If I want to stay up all night reading Tamora Pierce and then watch the sunrise, then I will. I’m just going to do whatever will make me happy. Idiotic, insane, or otherwise. Why? Because it’s my birthday. Is that an excuse? Of course not. Okay, so it’s the day I came into the world.  But I’m not going to celebrate the number I’m going to have for the next year. I’m going to celebrate my life, my experiences, my memories. And I’m going to tell myself:

Look how far you’ve come. Look at what you’ve accomplished. Look at all the memories you’ve created. This is something to celebrate. This is something to rejoice in. Now look at how much time you have left. Look at all the opportunities you have. Look at all the wonderful people in your life that you get to make this journey with. Look at all the dreams you have, that you have the chance to make come true. This is something to rejoice in too. You are so lucky. So lucky to be alive, so lucky to have these experiences. Rejoice in all of it for this day. Do nothing but rejoice, because you have reasons to be happy. You will always have reasons to happy. 

And I will.

Most people are about as happy as they make up their minds to be. – Abraham Lincoln   

Thousands of candles can be lighted from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared. – Buddha

– Mara