When I was in high school we read a poem in class about an athlete dying young – I’m pretty sure it was this one. I remember thinking that if I died before I had the chance to be a failure I would be more likely to leave a good legacy. In retrospect, I think that the pressure of life, especially the pressure of achieving success while also being in the closet, was draining a lot of my joy and energy. I knew that at some point I would burn out.
In my high school years I actually thought God might have promised me I would die young. If I stayed in the closet for my faith it seemed like an early death was God holding up their end of the bargain. Twenty or so years on earth seemed doable, but much more than that was hard to imagine. Being a closeted gay adolescent in the church left me feeling committed to my path and hopeless that it could actually work out in my favor. Going to heaven was the primary reward I was presented with in these years so it makes sense that when life felt overwhelming that’s where my mind would wander.
I didn’t really plan much past my early 20s, basically college was as far as I got in my mind. I couldn’t imagine the future in any kind of hopeful way so I just took life one day, month, and year at a time. When my tragic early death never happened I felt pretty behind and unprepared. Since I thought it was something God had promised, it may have even caused my faith to wane when I was left to figure out the years I hadn’t planned for. (As I scrambled it didn’t feel like God had planned much for those years either.) It wasn’t always conscious, but it does seem pretty clear in retrospect.
The other day on the way to therapy I saw an activity bus from an assisted living facility and cried for most of the rest of the drive. I worked in assisted living so I have some personal experience with how sad and lonely those places can be. In these moments I think I’m already grieving the future I feel is coming for me. Many people close to me have tried to reassure me about the future and remind me how far I’ve come. I actually have a very long blog post draft called, “The Future is Home,” in which I have tried to convince myself for more than a decade that it’s going to be ok. Rationally I want to believe them (and myself), but emotionally I just can’t.
Adolescence is supposed to be a time of exploration. It’s supposed to be a time when you get to know yourself, try on different identities, express desire, start to experience autonomy and independence. My experience of adolescence was closer to one of commitment before exploration – what Marcia would call identity Foreclosure. Now I am finally (really) exploring and, even though I have felt late to the party at times, I am very grateful to be here.
I do think that I will get to a point where I am optimistic about the future. I am already “less hopeless” at least which feels like progress. Even writing this blog post has made me feel better about things in the moment, probably because writing is something that I enjoy and it is a relief to write out thoughts that have been on my mind. I have also given myself the freedom to explore without making promises the way I did the first time around. I gave away all my agency at a young age and I’m too prone to do it again. Instead, I’m just following the energy of my life as best I can. The more my life feels like home right now the more likely I’ll be able to imagine it for myself down the road.
Highways and Hallowed Halls 