Lined up at the beginning of the track, I crouched down, waiting for the whistle to blow. In my head, I had arranged it all – fixed plans, future projects and new ideas. I was facing the ground, my field of vision limited to the tartan track and its white strips, completely unaware if I was competing or running by myself. Blood rushed through my ears, muffling the tribunes into emptiness.
My body twitched – I departed prematurely, commencing my schemes before I heard the signal. I ran through my teens and early twenties, sprinting past my peers who were hanging out on the sidelines as if there’s nothing to rush for. I skipped through an entire developmental chapter in my growth, and only after finishing the track I realised the consequences: I’ve missed the right time to grow up. But who’s to say when the right time to do anything is?
To drown out the typical angst, teenage worries and juvenile nonsense, foolishly convinced I’d mature at a better rate, I had focused on work instead of letting life happen as it should have in my teens. Though with questionable quality, work projects from that period occupied a significant portion of my time as a teenager. I still superficially spent time with friends, but I regret not letting it define me.
What I had rather put my effort into was an unknown occupation of digital skills. “All this laughter and time together wouldn’t amount to anything, unlike these projects” I remember thinking then. I had invested in building a professional foundation for myself, blindly believing it’s what matters. This led to a sterilisation in my social life, as bonds and kinship were confined to categories: one close friend to hang out with, one to complain to, another who’s just an acquaintance, and so on. I never let anything organic develop, as everything was predefined.
My peers on the other hand would rather invest in community; to them relationships, be it romantic or friendly, are what matters most; work is simply an instrument for support.
Indeed, work is transient. It’s a constantly changing flow that is not supposed to define one’s life. It’s a secondary occurrence, only after socialisation. We get jobs, lose them, work for somebody or manage ourselves. Connections, however, aren’t constant either. But communication is. We are constantly exchanging information, whether verbally or subconsciously, while work just may be a way to reach a common goal.
After mistakenly coming to the conclusion that I had matured faster as I got into my twenties, I thought the best solution would be to halt my psychological development and wait for age to catch up with me. Meanwhile, life continued happening, and soon enough I found myself in the middle a wakeup call: I realized that I do not have anything in common with people my age. After all that rushing, I had in fact ended up immature; I was the one who had to catch up.
It’s clear as day that skipping through pages would teach you inconsistent information, but I wish I knew better then. There’s an entire plethora of social cues, behaviour, habits and skills taught throughout your teens that I now need to learn way past that time. After all, I’d be late for my deadline even if I declined my friend’s invitation to see a movie.
Thankfully, the running track ends right where it begins. It’s a cycle that will repeat as much as it needs to until I finish on time. I will be able to do the course again, as soon as I reach the finish line, then start again. This time I’ll pace myself better and breathe rhythmically; I won’t prioritize work over my social life, and I’ll recognize the pattern of self-isolation before it’s too late. I still have the chance to make it up.