What Just Happened?

If there is anything I have learned from all my experiences with goals, plans, and resolutions it's that I'm terrible at giving my future-self advice. But my past-self can never receive the benefit of what I now know, so the only thing I can do is try to pass it on to a future-self who will inevitably believe they have outgrown my naive aims and observations.

Well shit. What to do?

My point is that, though it's good to aspire and work on yourself, resolutions say a lot more about who you are in the moment than who you will become.

I once wrote a letter to myself my senior year of high school. I don't know where that letter ended up. Probably at the bottom of a crumpled cardboard box in the garage of whatever teacher assigned the prompt. I remember very little of what I wrote in the letter but one detail has remained stuck in my brain. Afraid of settling for a mind numbing routine because of some silly adult reason like job security, my 18-year-old-self left behind very emphatic instructions: to avoid committing to a career I didn't love even if that meant handing out flyers on the street dressed as Big Bird.

What a strange and evocative image that conjures. It says a lot about my priorities, anxieties, and sense of humor at the time, all of which I haven't out grown in the slightest.

But in the face of all that, 2020 was a year of boring adult firsts for me. I bought a car, built credit, saved money, and settled into my first real job out of college that I like but am not passionate about.

(Still living at home but one thing at a time)

Perhaps it was the sobering influence of a global pandemic, where so many people have struggled to get by, that pushed me into this pragmatic groove. In a year that my high school self wouldn't have been thrilled with I've been mostly grateful.

And yes, this year has been stressful in many ways, but it hasn't been stressful in one way that's crucial. The specter of needing to become a creative professional has temporarily lifted and consequently I've manage to be more creative for the sake of being creative. Without that pressure, I more freely draw, write, and make music.

I'm as clueless about what 2021 holds as the rest of us, but here's the thing, I'm still that same zany, reckless kid that told me I should masquerade as a giant muppet for a side hustle. This year, I'm liable to throw all caution to the wind and quit my job over some hair-brained scheme. I certainly hope so. "That's what your twenties are for," I so often hear.

I'm still hesitant to give myself advice for 2021. It's not like much changes from December 31st to January 1st. Then again, it's as good a time of year as any to think about self improvement. I guess that's what I learned in 2020, that I'm still capable of self improvement. Slow, unremarkable improvement but it's progress.

So to myself in 2021, who is hypothetically reading this and rolling his eyes, my advice to you is this: be Big Bird, in that figurative, chaotic, aspirational way that I evoked his name in high school. But also remember the banal lessons you've learned these last couple years. If you can find the synergy between those two things, you'll probably be stronger for it.

P.S. Also, strive to be Big Bird, literally. You could do with worse role models. He's lovely.