Note to Self: Romanticize the Process
I have this passage pinned up on my bedroom wall, right beside the door frame, and right below a crucifix also hung up on the wall. It’s written in black sharpie on a large, bright pink sticky note and it reads:
“For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”
—2 Corinthians 4:17-18
Below the Bible passage is a message written in big bold letters: “this is your year.” Because the hot pinky sticky note stands out against my white walls, nearly everyone that’s ever stepped foot in my room asks about it. I always tell them the truth: I’ve had it since 2014, my senior year of high school, and it was given to me by the first girl I ever thought I was in love with (she’s married now LOL). Then, after getting weird looks, I typically go on to clarify that I really love the Bible passage and the note itself and explain that all feelings I had for that girl are long, long gone. I genuinely do love the Bible passage, and it’s one of my all-time favorites, but the primary reason I’ve kept the sticky note pinned in each bedroom I’ve had the last six years is the message below the Bible passage: “this is your year.” In 2014, those four words meant everything. Yes, they were written by a girl I thought I was in love with, but they were also living proof that someone else believed in me enough to put pen to paper and say it. Those words have been a jolt of energy and motivation I get every day when I wake up, but they’ve also been a source of frustration. I haven’t felt like a single year since 2014 has been ‘my year,’ and to this day, I’m not really certain what would have to happen for me to feel like a set of 365 qualified as ‘my year.’ Is it me ‘figuring shit out?’ Is it having an amazing relationship? Is it making x amount of money? Is it buying my mom a house? Is it having some unforgettable trip or experience? Those words, “this is your year,” have become a constant reminder that I’m very much a work in progress.
The sticky note also reminds me of a Zora Neale Hurston quote from Their Eyes Were Watching God that I’ve adored for years now: “There are years that ask questions, and years that answer” (MML 1/4/19). I feel like all my twenty-four years on Earth have been the years that ask questions, and there’s always been a part of me that so desperately yearns to be a person with receiving answers. With each New Years’ Day or birthday of mine, I’ve told myself, “this will be a year of answers. This will be the year I figure shit out.” But as I’ve grown in age and (hopefully) wisdom, I’ve begun to reconcile those aims with the fact that getting answers isn’t always the answer. Sometimes, no answer is an answer, and other times, finding yourself asking new questions can also be an answer. And most of the people that think they have all the answers are either delusional or living out some watered-down form of life. All this isn’t to say that my life has become infinitely better since I’ve come to this realization, but this is me learning to stop begging the world for answers. This is me knowing that when ‘my year’ finally comes along, it’ll be replete with questions, trivial and profound. This is me understanding that years that ask questions suggest learning and growth, and that the years that answer will likely be few and far between. And I guess that’s what makes life fun…romanticize the process.