Its got nothing to do with age. The fact that I don’t like birthdays. I don’t have a problem with getting older in itself. I have a huge problem with possibility of wasting time, of not doing anything, of realising that time has gone by and I’ve not used it to do something. That I’ve not achieved, not created, not made, not done anything that has significantly altered my life or the small percentage of the world I’m in contact with. And birthdays you see, serve as a reminder of the passing of time and a lack of significant achievement. Every birthday, because its celebrated, is remembered. I can remember where I was on the 9th of November a year ago, two, five or ten years ago, what I was doing, what I had hoped for then, and I see how I’ve changed and how I haven’t, and mostly I see another year gone by in which I’ve still not done anything.
There are a few ideas then at the heart of my birthday angst. Firstly this angst could stem from the fact that I undervalue the things I have done, because the truth is, I haven’t been sitting entirely idle for 29 years. Secondly it could be because I want other people to recognise what I have done. Thirdly it could be that I have a misplaced or warped perception of the importance of achievement and recognition. Chances are its all of those things.
Let’s look at the first aspect. Have I actually done things that could count as an achievement, and do I therefore undervalue who and what I am, the result of which being that every birthday I’m convinced another year as gone by and been wasted. So, Miss Rosie Clare, CV, education, summary: HSC with UAI over 90 (just). Diploma of Make-up Artistry. Cert III hairdressing, Bachelor of Creative Arts. (Question I’d love to have answered: do you actually write the ‘of’, or is it invisible like the ‘of’ in 9th November). Counteract by stating, I achieved my results in highschool with very little effort – in fact when it was my turn to have morning tea with the principal I proudly told him of how I’d done the least work in my school career in Yrs 11 & 12 – and therefore my marks were nothing to write home about as by rights I should have done a lot better, if only I’d actually pushed myself and done some work. The Make-up diploma? Well, most things about how I do make-up now are the result of hanging out in the wig room at the Opera House, not the year I spent going to college. Hairdressing? I did win an award at the end of this course. For coming first in the subject known as physiology, in which we looked at some very basic biology and chemistry to do with skin and hair. It was on a par with things I’d learnt at age 15. To be fair a lot of the girls in the course were only a bit older than that. But I turned my private school girl nose up at the prize thinking, and all though I would have been mortified had I not won it, I handed the tacky trophy straight to my dad, and smiling, I told him it should go straight to the pool room. And then finally I did get tertiary educated, and I got my BCA and with surprisingly little effort maintained a distinction average, but seriously big deal. I wrote essays on whether or not Madonna had been a blessing or a curse to feminism (I fence sat), and on Little Red Riding Hood, and then at graduation they made us accept our bits of paper on the same day as people who had completed post-graduate degrees in Policing, Intelligence and Counter Terrorism, and if that doesn’t make you feel like your Bachelor (of) Writing Short Stories and Making Hypothetical Grant Applications to the Australia Council is less than meaningful, then, well, I envy your self assurance.
CV, summary, work experience: Seven and half years of wigs and make-up at Opera Australia, Wardrobe Maintenance at Belvoir St (My first job after leaving a wig making trainee-ship, where I did four loads of washing per shift and was paid about $21/hr to do so, and consequently earned my previous weekly wage in half the amount of hours. It was grand), an awful lot of wig making for various people both in Sydney and London, some events promotion, an admin internship, some casual work as an untrained childcare worker when I was 19, voluntarily leading youth groups and camps. Its just what I do. And I do it competently, cheerfully and diligently. Reliably, consistently, independently but also in a team, respecting the work of others, taking responsibility for my actions and following the direction of my supervisors. Don’t we all.
So, these are the things I’ve done. Which perhaps I don’t see enough value in, while simultaneously, and maybe paradoxically, wish other people saw more value in, or something. But just two days ago, I heard my own voice saying, I think its important to remember that praise from people is nice, but not necessary. And really, I ought to listen to myself. Because I’m not existing for the sake of hearing other people saying ‘well done’. I began my first un-finished novel when I was about 16. And in it, I have one of the characters, a girl who is very much me, but of course we don’t admit that because fiction is not autobiographical and to read the author into an invented character is bad analysis, is having an existential crisis in the way only 17yr olds can. She is sitting at her desk, her head down, thinking things over, churning over the dictionary definition of life - Capacity for growth, functional activity and continual change until death - and getting lost in the questions for which she has no answers. And then she pauses. And looks up, and:
Stuck on my wall, on faded pink paper, and written in purple, are the words: “here is the conclusion of the matter: Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man. For God will bring every deed into judgement, including every hidden thing, whether it is good or evil.”[1] And then I knew. I knew that all I had ever been taught to believe was true. I knew what to write…
I need a bit more of her clarity. Because deep down I know my issue with achievement or the lack of it is also a tension between a desperate need I have to feel noticed, and a belief I hold that the worth of my life is not found in what I have achieved or not achieved, or in who has praised me or thanked me or given any type of affirmation for any small thing I’ve contributed, but that my worth is found only and always in my relationship with the God who has saved me. The God who has seen every deed, all I have done and not done, both the things I’m proud of and ashamed of, whether they’ve been public or hidden, good or evil, and who considers me worthwhile not because I have a particular UAI or degree or a growing number of half written novels, but because I am his. I know this. I believe this. But I forget this. And I start to feel that praise and recognition from people is necessary, that when I do something worthwhile then I’ll be significant, then I’ll be happy. And when I get published, or famous, or noteworthy, then I’ll have achieved something. When I’m influential on a scale bigger than I can now imagine, then I’ll be important. But should any of those things happen, they won’t make me anymore special to God than I already am. And they probably wouldn’t make me any more content with my achievements, because I know I’ll always be left thinking I could have worked harder, could have achieved more.
This is why my angst over achievement and birthdays is hard to explain and hard for me to move on from. Its just such a wide angst. An angst that is personal, and about self image and self worth, but one that is also about theology. And probably I need to change the way I view the things I have done, but also I need to change my need for significance based on achievement. And remember that praise from people is nice, but not necessary.
But back to my initial complaint, my dislike of birthdays and the fear of wasted time. In order to counteract my feelings of not doing anything and my fear of wasted time, I’m taking a light hearted approach, and doing that stereotypical thing of creating a list of things to do before the next birthday. My list[2] – entitled thirty things, because I’ll be thirty this time next year – is not about career advancement or getting married or going skydiving, but just a list of things I’d like to do, places to visit, cultural activities to take part in and a couple of creative things, like actually finishing one of those novels, things that I can take responsibility of and do so that next year when I’m swamped with feeling like I’ve not done anything I can look at the things crossed off the list and think, well at least I’ve done those things, and what fun it was.
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