twentythree

let’s set the scene: Nat King Cole is currently playing softly in the background, my studio apartment smells of dahlias and white roses, and there is an ever so soft glow beaming from a small glass lamp near the bay windows. now, I have your senses primed, your mind open, your breath calm.

I was told in my twenty second year of life many things — the result of being a young woman in a large city. I often receive advice that I never ask for, yet this is something I have grown deeply grateful for, as I find myself collecting perspectives on what it means to love this world and let it love you in return. Yet what I was not told at twenty two, what I could not possibly have been told at this age as to not reveal a less beautiful part of life, was that life is lonely if you are not careful.

My independence has grown to be a cherished part of my personality, a source of pride, a medal if you will on how “good” at surviving on my own I can be. Yet as I have come to learn, no one is handing our medals for this, nor do I wish to have one for that matter.

It’s funny, this thing we call loneliness. A state of being without company, of feeling alone in this journey we call life. And as it turns out, a word no one can talk about without then growing worried, uncomfortable, and promptly making a call to your mother or referring you to a therapist. People are quick to praise community once we have it, yet timid to elaborate on the effort it takes to get there as to not mention the L word. I read an article this year stating that we are in a loneliness epidemic. If that is the case, than I certainly have acquired the antibodies for the disease. This comes not as a moment of pity, yet as a moment of vulnerability, as a moment to remind both you and myself that we are human, we are built for connection. That the independence we hold so close has limits, and no one is being rewarded for ending up alone.

The question came to be “is it possible to be too independent?” And from what I have observed, the answer is inconclusive. Perhaps it is my naivety and youthfulness, or the varying opinions of so many generations existing at once. Yet what I do know, is that human connection is a beautifully necessary thing.

I found myself in a position, begging myself to release my tight grip on my independence, allow myself to need things, ask for favors, admit defeat. And what I discovered was a very tender side of myself. A side that needed time to feel the pace of life for a moment, to catch my breath for once. To relearn how to love. I thought I knew a lot about myself and this universe at twenty-one, only to learn what it all actually felt like at twenty two.

 There is a side of myself that I have grown to admire deeply through this past year. A tender part of me was uncovered —a version of myself that takes time to think and feel deeper, move more gracefully, and pause regularly. A tenderness transpired that has created space for all versions of myself to exist, even the lonely ones. 

That is what I have loved most about twenty two— that while parts of me are rapidly changing, there is a connectedness of who I am now at twentythree that is an extension of the tender girl I was at three years old. 

It was in surrendering to the lonely moments that I found an expansive space to be, breathe, love, and be loved. I learned that life can be many things at once when I am acting from a place of alignment and openness. I find that exciting. That I can be an independent woman and also crave connection from others. 

The lessons from this year ignited a spark, a spark that guided me toward welcoming people in again, knowing it was necessary and fulfilling. Jazz made me dream again, and I grew fond of songs that felt like how love feels (queue “this will be (an everlasting love)” by Natalie Cole and all of the French Bossa Nova I could imagine). I started playing the piano again, I took pottery classes, I booked spontaneous trips, I signed myself up for ballet classes. 

I expanded my dreams instead of confining myself to the ones I had outgrown. 

And what I have stumbled upon is version of peace, a cure for the periods of loneliness.

so, I thank the lonely moments. The days where I did not know what to do, who to see, where to go. For I found a tender part of myself, a part that led me to a whirlwind, complex, and enchanting twenty second year of life. 

As for today, I am still growing, loving, flowing, and feeling like the luckiest girl for what I learned at twenty two. All I ask for twenty three is that I trust and act on my intuition, that I remember my moments of gratitude, and that I never forget the power of French music and a good outfit on turning my mood around. I wish for a year of tender whirlwinds and quiet luxuries, a year of cultivating peace and knowing that what’s mine will find me. Here’s to twentythree <3

xoxo,

Camille, 23 years