Remember when?

To know me is to hate me
Is to hate what I’ve become
It’s to watch me as I’m fallin’
From that laddеr’s last rung
It’s to feel it like a secret
You can’t keep in, I’m not thе way I was
I’m not the way I was

Noah Kahan, Godlight.

I think I’ve shared this before, but I tend to do this thing when I stumble upon a new song I like. I listen to it one thousand times. No really. I listen to it over and over again. Almost obsessively. I like a catch tune, but more so, I love lyrics. I love that lyrics are a poetic expression of one person’s very human experience, but that they can mean something different to every single other human that hears them.

So yeah, I could tell you what I think the song is about that I’ve shared above. I could probably even post other lyrics so that there is some modicum of context. However, I don’t want to. That’s my truth. I just want to share why these words resonated with me and what they mean to me. I invite you to have your own experience with them. Perhaps you already have?

Have you ever stepped outside of yourself and looked, like really looked? Once you’ve gotten in real, real close like that, have you cringed a little? Have you tried to reconcile how you got there or why you behaved the way you did? Sometimes this can be a one off ‘I was having a bad day and I acted like an asshole’ or sometimes we lose a decade to morphing into someone else who makes our skin crawl.

I think a lot of us can easily criticize ourselves. We can well-versed in the whole self-deprecation business. I’m going to start with a really benign and silly example and then I’m going to not-so-gently prod us to where I actually want to be in order to get into the weeds of this topic.

I’d like to think that most of us have had at least one experience like the one I’m about to describe, so it’s fairly relatable. If not, I’ll try and spell it out so things are clear, regardless. I get dragged to Starbucks by a friend (I am NOT a Starbucks gal, no offense to the explosively popular chain). We are waiting for our multisyllabic, seasonally appropriate espresso drinks and a group of young women come in. They order some whipped cream topped confections and loudly describe all the ways in which Billy was out of control at school that day. They are over the top in every way possible. They are wearing cropped tops and ripped jeans and overpriced footwear. They have on what is arguably too much make-up and they either don’t care that everyone hears their conversation or they are deliberately trying to make themselves the center of attention.

Sometimes our first response to this behavior is to feel annoyed. I say sometimes to be kind. This always annoys me. That’s right. I said it. I’m not out here trying to pretend that I’m like ‘aw, that’s cute’. I’m more like the ‘shut the fuck up, no one cares’ kind of grumpy, begrudging Starbucks patron. Yes, part of that is Starbucks and then all the other parts come from various places within me. Insecurity, maturity, regrets, desires, and more. Then, even where I’m concerned, something changes. A shift happens. Oh shit, I was probably a lot like they are right now. I mean, I was probably even wearing some of the same shit because everything seems to get recycled these days. I like to think I was a polite and well-mannered child, but also, I was likely entirely clueless about how I came across to those around me. I imagine I was much more concerned about my friends and our incredibly stimulating conversation about the lacrosse players or school trip or the newest shade of Wet ‘n’ Wild lip gloss carried by CVS.

What am I talking about? Well, I identify. I remember when I was at that age and accept the notion that I was probably not wholly unlike the young women in front of me. So, I chill out and give them a bit of a pass. I tell myself that I am being a grumpy old hag. They are just young and immature and living their best self-absorbed lives. Who am I to kill their vibe?

I might even wonder how I got to the place where I am right now. When did I lose that sense of ‘I don’t give a fuck’ and turn into a surly middle-aged adult who is rankled by their silliness? I might exchange a look with my friend. We might raise our eyebrows and smile and sigh almost simultaneously. Our brief expressions will wordlessly acknowledge the innocence and irrelevance of their behavior. Who really cares? Let them live their best lives. I always did, right?

This is one of the easy exercises. This is an experience where we don’t do any profound soul searching, but rather, just gently remind ourselves that we were once young[er] and carefree and the world was a smaller place. I don’t tell myself that I am shitty for being so critical initially. I don’t try and figure out a real reason why I am so triggered by these young women. I keep things light and super surface.

When I finally walk out of Starbucks with my friend, I let out an uncomfortable laugh. I might tell her that it was kind of bitchy for me to feel so extreme towards the young women initially. I work to immediately invalidate any prior frustration, judgment, or anger. Then I let it all go. It’s done. I’ve had this little experience and now, I’ve found a way to scoot past it. All is well in the world and that is that.

Before we close out today, I want to explain two things. One, this is a completely normal reaction. Normal is a shitty word, but I think you know what I mean. There is something entirely understandable in moving through even minor discomfort quickly. Two, not every single experience requires a full analysis or a deep dive. At all. Sometimes it benefits us to collect data from several experiences and then use that aggregated whole as a litmus test.

I will end on this: start to think about (maybe even make a list) different experiences where you’ve been inspired, encouraged, or pushed to look at your reactions or the implications of such in ANY way.

x

L.