I used to think 22 was so adult and mature. Now that I’m here, I’ve never felt younger. As I got older in college, I felt more mature to a degree, but now, in the real world, there’s no ranking or seniority, other than what’s in place at my work. So in an entry-level position, I guess you could say I still feel pretty immature.
Now I have to find new ways to make a name for myself. I’m no longer defined as “college student” or class ranking like “junior” or “senior.” My role of “daughter” has diminished since I left home. As cool as Magna Cum Laude sounds, it doesn’t really matter now that I’ve walked the stage. I have the roles of employee, daughter, sister, friend, girlfriend, citizen – but what does that all add up to?
We’re constantly finding ways to reinvent and define ourselves. Because life moves quickly. What defined us yesterday might not define us today.
But in the end, what does it even matter? Don’t they call death the great equalizer? It doesn’t really matter what defines us – how many zeroes are on our paycheck, how many kids we have, the letters behind our name. Why do we feel the need to separate ourselves from who we used to be?
Let’s take a look at what a familiar band has to say.
Day Twenty-Three: Ghosts – The Head and the Heart
I had the pleasure of seeing The Head and the Heart in concert when I was in high school. Let me tell you (as I’ve told you before,) they are a musical treat. They know how to balance bouncy rhythms with relaxed backbeats in a true pinnacle of folksiness. I felt edgy going to that concert because the frontman dropped an f-bomb onstage and my little cheeks turned pink.
I also met someone there that I’ve never talked to again. His name was Richard, and he looked like a Richard, and he talked like a Richard. He was also at the concert alone. He said his friends “really aren’t into the same music.” And I nodded my head in solemn commiseration. They’ll just never understand us, will they? We defined ourselves based on our taste in music – which we, our teenage hipster selves, defined as on a higher plane than others’.
And that age was the age I was learning to define myself, beyond the perimeter of what my parents or my teachers or my friends told me. I was figuring out that I could figure things out for myself. And that, of course, always leads to stupid, youthful mistakes.
That night at the concert THATH played one of my favorite songs – “Ghosts.” I love keys, and you’ll figure out within the first few seconds of this song that the keys are the star of the show. It has a ragtime-like feel, as if you could be sitting in a smoky post-Prohibition speakeasy with a jazz band playing onstage, with a clean mixture of jazz and folk in perfect, jiving harmony.
Speaking of harmonies, the pre-chorus laments in a beautiful three-part:
Boys in the street talkin bout leavin, they’re leavin
Lookin for places to go
Boys in the street talkin bout leavin, they’re leavin
Lookin for places to go
The piano in all its glory sets the stage for a chugging rhythm. Just like the pre-chorus tells us, it gives the connotation of running. And so do the first few verses – they tell us about people trying to escape.
Andy built his coffin down in Carolina
Told me he was runnin from something
But I bet he’s just out chasing girls
When Mary moved all of her sh*t to Chicago
Her mother made sure that she left with her Bible
But you won’t find her face on Sundays
Your twenties is a weird time when your friend groups can change quickly and people are constantly coming and going. Within a week, one of them could be moving out of town. And sometimes it’s because they’re trying to escape. The question is, why do we feel the need to separate ourselves from our roots?
All my friends are talkin about leavin, about leavin
But all my friends are sittin in their graves
All my friends are talkin about leavin, they’re leavin
But all my friends are sittin in their graves
It’s morbid, but it’s true. Maybe we’re just trying to escape being forgotten, or trying to prevent from disappearing into the woodwork. No matter how hard we try to redefine, relocate, or reimagine, we all end up in the same place.
Is it any wonder why we all leave home?
People say, “I knew you when you were six years old!”
And you say I’ve changed I’ve changed I’ve changed I’ve changed
I’ve changed
Mom and Dad, if only you could see me now
Been here for a year and now I own this town
Cause I’ve changed I’ve changed I’ve changed I’ve changed
I’ve changed
I felt that when I transitioned from middle school into high school. It was a relief that I would be interacting with people who didn’t know me when I was young. Finally I would be surrounded by people who didn’t remember the time I threatened the boys in second grade that I’d wear my best lipstick to the roller skating party. Maybe they’d forget that I dropped by books in the trashcan one time. This verse incessantly repeats I’ve changed, as if they’re trying to convince everyone – including themselves.
But the same thing happened in college. I was ready to be in a completely different place with hardly anyone I knew. Again, I could redefine myself! They wouldn’t know the socially-awkward girl I was in high school! I could be whomever I wanted! But it’s always a cycle. Redefine, plateau, stagnate, and redefine again.
Thus, THATH reminds us:
One day we’ll all be ghosts
Trippin around someone else’s home
One day we’ll all be ghosts, ghosts, ghosts
It doesn’t really matter what we do in life. People probably won’t remember your embarrassing elementary-school memories when you’re dead. If anything, you’ll be remembered for your true character, which doesn’t change with your vascillating identities throughout life.
One day we’ll all be found
No longer lost, we’re just hangin around
One day we’ll all be found, found, found
Found, found, found
So while we’re here, why not spend time working on that character and truly finding ourselves? If we’re constantly changing, we’re no better than ghosts shifting with the wind. Maybe it’s time to reconnect with those roots, and instead of separating yourself from your past, learning from it.
And one day, you’ll be found.
Audrey D. DeBoer 