10 Years Later.
It's amazing how crucial everything seemed back then. All of the friendships that don't exist anymore, and the forgotten family history that has long-since been resolved; it all seemed so important. Important enough to chronicle it publicly, I suppose. There is a part of me that wants to go back and shake the 15-year-old me and say "you're doing this all wrong!" Then there's the other side that knows that I wouldn't be who I am today if I didn't have these experiences. It's so fascinating how I saw these people every single day and my entire life revolved around what they were doing and what they thought of me... I only talk to two of them regularly now, and the rest are just Facebook acquaintances or Twitter pals.
Today is my 25th birthday. The last journal entry I posted was in December of 2002. It is now March of 2012. Almost ten years later, and I'm a man now. I periodically will stop and talk myself down: "We're adults now... when did that happen? And how do we make it stop?" Brief moments of weakness that most people my age have. I don't feel old. I don't feel young. I honestly don't feel physically different for the most part. I now know how to buy clothing that fits me and doesn't make me look like I'm trying to hook you up with some backyard meth. I have a large amount of tattoos. My hair isn't in a mohawk or full of pink and teal hair color. I have two piercings in my face, but they're tasteful, not gaudy nor "punk rock".
The physical aspects aren't the important difference, though. The good stuff is how I came to love myself for who I am, and invite the same energy from others. Reading back on these heartfelt entries (ahem-- at least from the perspective of a high school freshman) was an eye-opening experience. I'm amazed by how jaded my self-image was, and the lengths that I would go to prove I was something that I wasn't. I am gay. That's something that took a lot of time to surface, and very little time to sink in. The second I flipped that switch in my brain that turned all the lights on, I could see clear as crystal that all this time I was simply convincing myself that I was supposed to live some kind of preconceived ideal lifestyle that all the Hollywood movies and romantic shoegazing bands spewed all over us. Sadly, some of the people from these entries didn't make it out alive, or at least for any intensive purpose. They're still living and breathing, but there are a vast number of them that have children they can't afford to take care of because of drug addiction, and now they're living off the state.
While no, I don't have everything together financially, I definitely am afloat. My bread-winner is a cashier position at Reny's, but I've been pursuing my aspirations heavily and making money doing it. I write the gay and lesbian column for Dispatch Magazine. I'm a vocalist-for-hire and have won a few competitions, and even made it through the first 3 rounds on American Idol. I went to college. It was a great experience for me to be on my own in a new city, but I wasn't focused enough on bettering myself scholastically, so my grades failed as a result. I was studying musical theater, but it wasn't my passion anymore, at least in that manner. I moved home to write an album, and it's actually going to happen this year. As for the theater aspects, I've applied it to my current love: drag. People often ask me, "Why do you do drag? Is it a sexual thing?" The truth is, no. It's more of a sexuality thing than anything. The way I explained it to my grandmother is as such: "You supported me studying acting when I was heavily involved, and now I've created a character, 2 parts Elvira, 1 part Pink, a dash of Pee-Wee Herman and a heaping spoonful of me. It just so happens that the character I play is a 'female' [even though I don't even agree with that]." It's a fantastic way to still act, and to use my creativity as an outlet for all of the feminine qualities about me.
I have a boyfriend. His name is Mikey. We've been on-again, off-again for about a year and a half, but currently we're on. And we're taking everything as it comes, instead of slapping a ton of expectations onto everything. He's sweet. I think he could one day love me. And I could one day do the same. As it stands right now, I'm just happy to enjoy what time we do get to see each other, as we both work constantly and have separate lives to boot.
My father and brother have both since married. I've known my stepmother since I was born, so I didn't have to get used to some stranger, and for that I'm grateful. Pat fell madly in love with a Russian girl named Natalia. They met working together at a restaurant and followed each other around the country until settling in South Carolina. They almost immediately tied the knot after that, and have been married for 5 years and change. She's wonderful, and appreciates me for who I am, and our family for what it is. Pat and I have a great relationship now, forgetting the occasional brotherly hiccup. Mom is getting by. She's aging, and that's making it harder for her to get around. Maybe not harder, but she moves much slower. She never regained use of her right arm, but there's still hope that she might one day, as it gets a little better here and there as the months pass. She volunteers with other stroke victims as a peer counselor, and has received the Volunteer of the Year Award at the hospital two years in a row. I'm living with her while I save money for my own place, helping take care of things like the trash and cleaning the bathroom and anything that's far more difficult for her to perform.
I stop and wonder what my younger self would think of who I turned out to be. Would I be scared of this person that looks like me, with all of this self-awareness and self-appreciation? Would seeing what the future had in store make it easier to bide my time in high school before I could get the hell out of there and pursue a career and a life the way I wanted, or would it make it harder to gain the appreciation for the experiences I've had up until this point? What if I saw 35-year-old Conor standing in front of me? What would I say to him? And what would he say to me? Would he be successful? Would he be loved? Would he be happy?
Would he have fierce shoes on?
Would he look at me like I'm looking at my previous self and say, "You're doing it wrong!" Probably. Everyone has the "if I knew then what I know now" side to them. I know I've got my flaws; I drink too much, I'm fiscally irresponsible to no end, I can be a bit of a flake at times, and I still have a temper sometimes though I've gotten it very much under control. No one is flawless, and I know that. All anyone can do is enjoy the day ahead of them, 'cause they could die tomorrow. Live every day so that if you do die tomorrow, you had the best day ever just before you went.
To 15-Year-Old Conor: You did what you could, and regardless of some blinders in your vision you stayed true to you. And that's really hard to do when you're in high school and everything is changing around you.
To any future Conor that revisits this: Hopefully it gets better from here, 'cause I don't want to disappoint. But that's hard to do when all you have to say is "I'm proud of myself for what I've done, what I have and who I am." Hopefully you're still doing that.
Today is my 25th birthday. The last journal entry I posted was in December of 2002. It is now March of 2012. Almost ten years later, and I'm a man now. I periodically will stop and talk myself down: "We're adults now... when did that happen? And how do we make it stop?" Brief moments of weakness that most people my age have. I don't feel old. I don't feel young. I honestly don't feel physically different for the most part. I now know how to buy clothing that fits me and doesn't make me look like I'm trying to hook you up with some backyard meth. I have a large amount of tattoos. My hair isn't in a mohawk or full of pink and teal hair color. I have two piercings in my face, but they're tasteful, not gaudy nor "punk rock".
The physical aspects aren't the important difference, though. The good stuff is how I came to love myself for who I am, and invite the same energy from others. Reading back on these heartfelt entries (ahem-- at least from the perspective of a high school freshman) was an eye-opening experience. I'm amazed by how jaded my self-image was, and the lengths that I would go to prove I was something that I wasn't. I am gay. That's something that took a lot of time to surface, and very little time to sink in. The second I flipped that switch in my brain that turned all the lights on, I could see clear as crystal that all this time I was simply convincing myself that I was supposed to live some kind of preconceived ideal lifestyle that all the Hollywood movies and romantic shoegazing bands spewed all over us. Sadly, some of the people from these entries didn't make it out alive, or at least for any intensive purpose. They're still living and breathing, but there are a vast number of them that have children they can't afford to take care of because of drug addiction, and now they're living off the state.
While no, I don't have everything together financially, I definitely am afloat. My bread-winner is a cashier position at Reny's, but I've been pursuing my aspirations heavily and making money doing it. I write the gay and lesbian column for Dispatch Magazine. I'm a vocalist-for-hire and have won a few competitions, and even made it through the first 3 rounds on American Idol. I went to college. It was a great experience for me to be on my own in a new city, but I wasn't focused enough on bettering myself scholastically, so my grades failed as a result. I was studying musical theater, but it wasn't my passion anymore, at least in that manner. I moved home to write an album, and it's actually going to happen this year. As for the theater aspects, I've applied it to my current love: drag. People often ask me, "Why do you do drag? Is it a sexual thing?" The truth is, no. It's more of a sexuality thing than anything. The way I explained it to my grandmother is as such: "You supported me studying acting when I was heavily involved, and now I've created a character, 2 parts Elvira, 1 part Pink, a dash of Pee-Wee Herman and a heaping spoonful of me. It just so happens that the character I play is a 'female' [even though I don't even agree with that]." It's a fantastic way to still act, and to use my creativity as an outlet for all of the feminine qualities about me.
I have a boyfriend. His name is Mikey. We've been on-again, off-again for about a year and a half, but currently we're on. And we're taking everything as it comes, instead of slapping a ton of expectations onto everything. He's sweet. I think he could one day love me. And I could one day do the same. As it stands right now, I'm just happy to enjoy what time we do get to see each other, as we both work constantly and have separate lives to boot.
My father and brother have both since married. I've known my stepmother since I was born, so I didn't have to get used to some stranger, and for that I'm grateful. Pat fell madly in love with a Russian girl named Natalia. They met working together at a restaurant and followed each other around the country until settling in South Carolina. They almost immediately tied the knot after that, and have been married for 5 years and change. She's wonderful, and appreciates me for who I am, and our family for what it is. Pat and I have a great relationship now, forgetting the occasional brotherly hiccup. Mom is getting by. She's aging, and that's making it harder for her to get around. Maybe not harder, but she moves much slower. She never regained use of her right arm, but there's still hope that she might one day, as it gets a little better here and there as the months pass. She volunteers with other stroke victims as a peer counselor, and has received the Volunteer of the Year Award at the hospital two years in a row. I'm living with her while I save money for my own place, helping take care of things like the trash and cleaning the bathroom and anything that's far more difficult for her to perform.
I stop and wonder what my younger self would think of who I turned out to be. Would I be scared of this person that looks like me, with all of this self-awareness and self-appreciation? Would seeing what the future had in store make it easier to bide my time in high school before I could get the hell out of there and pursue a career and a life the way I wanted, or would it make it harder to gain the appreciation for the experiences I've had up until this point? What if I saw 35-year-old Conor standing in front of me? What would I say to him? And what would he say to me? Would he be successful? Would he be loved? Would he be happy?
Would he have fierce shoes on?
Would he look at me like I'm looking at my previous self and say, "You're doing it wrong!" Probably. Everyone has the "if I knew then what I know now" side to them. I know I've got my flaws; I drink too much, I'm fiscally irresponsible to no end, I can be a bit of a flake at times, and I still have a temper sometimes though I've gotten it very much under control. No one is flawless, and I know that. All anyone can do is enjoy the day ahead of them, 'cause they could die tomorrow. Live every day so that if you do die tomorrow, you had the best day ever just before you went.
To 15-Year-Old Conor: You did what you could, and regardless of some blinders in your vision you stayed true to you. And that's really hard to do when you're in high school and everything is changing around you.
To any future Conor that revisits this: Hopefully it gets better from here, 'cause I don't want to disappoint. But that's hard to do when all you have to say is "I'm proud of myself for what I've done, what I have and who I am." Hopefully you're still doing that.