Moving On
John Frusciante quit the Red Hot Chili Peppers. That was a while ago, end of 2009.
I quit studying Japanese to focus on my career as a scriptwriter in January. I have to admit, it felt a bit like a failure. Just a bit.
I'm cleaning up my room now. I didn't want to do it for the longest time, even though it was a true pigsty, just because I knew that if I had to clean it, I would have to part from some things. Browse through things I didn't want to see just yet. I didn't want to touch all the sheets of paper bearing my Japanese lessons that were just scattered around on the floor, because of the guilt, and the feeling of failure. Not actual guilt or feeling of failure, in fact, just the fear of them.
Then, there was the old stuff. Some clothes I've been having for way too long, 10, 15 years maybe, that didn't fit me anymore, but which I couldn't bring myself to get rid of, thinking maybe I could use them again, one day (I have to say, though, I don't really have a fashion streak, I buy and wear clothes out of necessity, most of the time I consider it a hassle. Most of the clothes I own have been passed on to me by my mother or older sister, so I've never really cared about it).
But that's wrong. Maybe I can go back to the figure I had when I could wear these clothes, but then again maybe I never will. So in the mean time, I have to throw it all away, and if that figure ever comes back, well I'll just buy new fucking clothes.
I'm not 18 anymore, nor will I ever be again. I've changed, and I'll just keep changing.
I won't go as far as to say that I'm an adult now, but I've got to accept these facts, and go through my process of grief. Everything evolves, passes. My musical tastes are changing. My way of thinking is changing. I don't heal as fast as I used to when I'm bruised.
In a word : I'm aging.
When I was younger, I thought I would never change. I swore to that. I thought that was fidelity, and that fidelity was a virtue.
But change can be a good thing. The only hard part is having to get rid of the old stuff, and come to terms with the fact that the old you is long dead, and is never, ever coming back. You also have to admit that what you thought was "you" is wrong, at least right now.
That ought to be sad, I guess, but it's not. It just means more possibilities ahead. You can become... more. Other.
You can buy new clothes, ones that fit you, knowing they won't last forever.
Love new people, new music, new things of the mind, love them as much as you can, for all the time you can. Maybe those will last forever. Maybe they won't. But when it's over, you'll have to recognize it. And grieve, again. And start over.
No dust clinging to your shoes, no stagnation - which is only good when it helps you grieve, when stagnation becomes so insufferable that it forces you to move on and live.
No nostalgia. No guilt.
John Frusciante leaving the RHCP, it shocked me, a lot. Because it meant more than just a guitarist splitting from his band to me. It meant that a whole period of my life was gone. Not directly, of course, I'm a fan sure but not THAT much of a fan. It's just that his presence in the band, the RHCP I used to love, was linked with a lot of stuff in my life that are now over - what I mean is that chronologically, it corresponded to that period where I used to be someone else, someone I'm not anymore.
His leaving the band, it was a sign. And I don't mean that in a "destiny" sort of way, more in the way that it held a signification that my sensitivity can associate to now, as a culmination, a turning point.
That's what a "coincidence" is, after all.
Boy don't we have enough of a lifetime to learn how to live.
I quit studying Japanese to focus on my career as a scriptwriter in January. I have to admit, it felt a bit like a failure. Just a bit.
I'm cleaning up my room now. I didn't want to do it for the longest time, even though it was a true pigsty, just because I knew that if I had to clean it, I would have to part from some things. Browse through things I didn't want to see just yet. I didn't want to touch all the sheets of paper bearing my Japanese lessons that were just scattered around on the floor, because of the guilt, and the feeling of failure. Not actual guilt or feeling of failure, in fact, just the fear of them.
Then, there was the old stuff. Some clothes I've been having for way too long, 10, 15 years maybe, that didn't fit me anymore, but which I couldn't bring myself to get rid of, thinking maybe I could use them again, one day (I have to say, though, I don't really have a fashion streak, I buy and wear clothes out of necessity, most of the time I consider it a hassle. Most of the clothes I own have been passed on to me by my mother or older sister, so I've never really cared about it).
But that's wrong. Maybe I can go back to the figure I had when I could wear these clothes, but then again maybe I never will. So in the mean time, I have to throw it all away, and if that figure ever comes back, well I'll just buy new fucking clothes.
I'm not 18 anymore, nor will I ever be again. I've changed, and I'll just keep changing.
I won't go as far as to say that I'm an adult now, but I've got to accept these facts, and go through my process of grief. Everything evolves, passes. My musical tastes are changing. My way of thinking is changing. I don't heal as fast as I used to when I'm bruised.
In a word : I'm aging.
When I was younger, I thought I would never change. I swore to that. I thought that was fidelity, and that fidelity was a virtue.
But change can be a good thing. The only hard part is having to get rid of the old stuff, and come to terms with the fact that the old you is long dead, and is never, ever coming back. You also have to admit that what you thought was "you" is wrong, at least right now.
That ought to be sad, I guess, but it's not. It just means more possibilities ahead. You can become... more. Other.
You can buy new clothes, ones that fit you, knowing they won't last forever.
Love new people, new music, new things of the mind, love them as much as you can, for all the time you can. Maybe those will last forever. Maybe they won't. But when it's over, you'll have to recognize it. And grieve, again. And start over.
No dust clinging to your shoes, no stagnation - which is only good when it helps you grieve, when stagnation becomes so insufferable that it forces you to move on and live.
No nostalgia. No guilt.
John Frusciante leaving the RHCP, it shocked me, a lot. Because it meant more than just a guitarist splitting from his band to me. It meant that a whole period of my life was gone. Not directly, of course, I'm a fan sure but not THAT much of a fan. It's just that his presence in the band, the RHCP I used to love, was linked with a lot of stuff in my life that are now over - what I mean is that chronologically, it corresponded to that period where I used to be someone else, someone I'm not anymore.
His leaving the band, it was a sign. And I don't mean that in a "destiny" sort of way, more in the way that it held a signification that my sensitivity can associate to now, as a culmination, a turning point.
That's what a "coincidence" is, after all.
Boy don't we have enough of a lifetime to learn how to live.