On turning 30

If you’ve ever been under 30, or still are, then you haven’t done much with your life yet.

You were born, washed, fed, raised, clothed, read at, read at some more, scolded at, praised, at a friend’s sleepover, driven to your best friend’s birthday party, driven from your mother and father’s wings, taken to the doctor, going to your first day of high school, taken someone or taken to on a date, drinking for the first time at a new friend’s birthday party, slept under the stars by yourself, being bullied, graduating for high school, went to university, made happy by true friends and cool beers, smoking your first joint, getting your mind blown by proper sex and none of that hanky-panky above-the-shirt high school bullshit, finishing your tertiary studies, busy losing your mind and losing your heart, finding love again, marrying the love of your life and  realizing the love of your life has as many flaw as you have, working in a crappy job and going to bed early, dreaming and then waking up and panicking because you were wasting time not following your passions, being disappointed at the time you have wasted by not spending more time with people that you loved, spending more time with the people you love.

Each word or phrase represents a year in a life. Count ‘em up. I did. There’s a lot going on between those words, those spaces you were taught to ignore, but in those gaps is where a life lives, where a life learned to dance, sing, cry, laugh, and eat. So much eating. And breathing. Most of those gaps show breathing, and most of those breaths are done in front of a phone, at a busy coffee shop waiting for a caramel macchiato, while a car hurls and weaves through a highway at this-speed-could-kill-anyone-but-I’m-not-even-looking-because-my-co-workers-were-asshole km/h, or when the sun has tucked itself under the duvet of night and the human mind is cataloguing the day’s pain and regrets, a purple cat in a pink tuxedo waltzes with a rainbow tiger under a pearly moon and stars.

Take my hand, and let us two-step or tango between the gaps. I know your back hurts and you’ve had a terrible day at the office, but if you trust me, and never let go, I promise I will make you count each breath.

© 2018 Theo Volschenk. All rights reserved.

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