The rare moments I actually attended to writing the post, 11 out of 10 times arose from a deep place of procrastination. If you haven’t already, you should probably watch Ellen talk about it, because no one else has managed yet to explain this perpetuating cycle of nothingness – both it’s disappointment and it’s satisfaction – quite like her.
Essentially, it took me two months – otherwise characterised by failed driving test(s), similar mock exams, and patting the neighbour’s cat (I accept this will be weird if you haven’t yet watched Ellen, you should probably reconsider doing so for the sake of your understanding of my attempts at humour in the future) – to come to a pretty pivotal conclusion.
As it turns out, we’re a one-man squad here at Currently Loving. There is no secret team out back. Instead, a shy white desk which doubles as my office. My office which doubles as a mailbox for disappointing bank statements and more recently, a reminder for a check-up at Dentistry for Chickens (10/10 would recommend by the way – they fixed my chipped tooth on a public holiday when I had just returned from Vietnam. Unlike Jessica Hart, those gap-toothed smiles weren’t about to gain me a position in the modelling industry, so I owe it to them).
My point is, there are downfalls to being on a one-man squad. Sure, they are exclusive – literally they don’t accept anyone – and this does wonders for the ego. However, one’s mistakes, unforeseen absences, and disorganisation are as detailed: one’s only. Alone, we can’t even accuse an assistant of failing to fetch coffee. Newsflash, we got no assistant. We’ll be lucky to have a pubescent email address full of self-promoting adjectives. In my defence, the pairing of cool (with a k) and kenz acted as a fine example to all future employers of my aptness for alliteration. And admittedly, not much else.
I mock her but my younger self would laugh at my ill organisation these days. It stems from being constantly busy, but is catalysed by an equal commitment to laziness. For my own sake, I’ll link it to leaving school soon. I feel so, so ready for it. More than I could’ve ever imagined. You know, I expected to reach this stage in my final year with excitement. But it’s more than that. It’s this need to be somewhere different, to do something different. Everything is the same. It’s repetitive – as are my mistakes. Do you ever feel as if you can only grow to a certain extent in one environment? I’ve become this version of me, I’ve become all that I can and will at school. But to become someone better – to escape my negative qualities and to hone in on the positives – I need to go. I need to experience, see and do things beyond everything that has ever been familiar.
So why haven’t I written lately? Well, after some serious self-evaluation (instigated mostly by my unexpected joining of Spotify), I’ve decided it must be because I’m waiting. Waiting to be truly inspired again. And I think that’s the problem with school. It’s also why I’m quite content in leaving. I’m done putting my life on hold. I want to get out there. I want to be empowered everyday by the things I love to do. I want to find myself surrounded by a load of crazy, different people. Even more so, I crave to become that person I’ve told them for years I strive to be.
I’ll miss it. I will. I’ll miss the days we saw friends in our teachers. I’ll miss the water fights, and the first days of summer in the quad. I’ll miss the debates – re Miley Cyrus and the direction of the music industry. I’ll miss being seated aside quiet strangers with quirky humours. I’ll miss falling into that corner of pillows in English class. I’ll even miss being told off for talking so much. I’ll miss the resilience of my school shoes, OBAMA on my leavers jersey. I’ll miss the concert of keychains on my bag. I’ll miss wearing them with such pride.
I think it’s important we give ourselves a chance to miss these moments. It’s only in looking back, that we’ll aspire to create something even better of the life that is to come. And boy, is it about to come.
Photos: Mallory Christie