Aeolistic


Baby, baby

Going a bit retro today. Back to 1989, in fact. Here I am at one year old – back when my mum used to dress me in cute ensembles from Peter Jones by Sloane Square (pretentious, non?). I’ve been thinking about how we change as we get older, and how we adapt. I don’t just mean physical changes, but also our changes in needs, desires and ambitions. I’m always self-conscious about posting photos of myself on this blog, but I’m slowly coming to terms with it. These photos are from different points in my life, so I guess they’re relevant to what I’m writing about.

One of the biggest differences between me now and me a few years ago is simplicity. The self-consciousness of changing from child to adult was daunting and once I stepped out of the safety of tomboy clothes and the four walls of my bedroom, I dealt with it by being (very) loud and covering myself in make-up, accessories and bright colours to try to distract people from what was underneath. As a teenager, all I craved was to be wanted – for people to want to be my friend and to want to be around me. Not many photos of me have survived the handful of years since then, and that’s probably a good thing. The awkwardness of craving attention and approval is something best remembered hazily, without any hard evidence. The arrogance of adolescence has turned into the panic of realising that I know nothing in the scheme of things.

A friend said to me recently (having not seen me for many months) that I seem less ‘breathless’. I know what he means; I’m not trying so hard anymore. I’m not struggling to be witty or intriguing – not having the energy is a major contributing factor but I guess that acceptance I’ve written about before of never being the smartest or the most liked does have a part to play.

I’m moving to Camden next week. It’s daunting that I’ll be entirely self-sufficient for the first time, but I’ve never felt more ready for anything in my life.

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