I have lived a lot of life

Today, I am twenty-six, and in those years, I have lived a lot of life. I’ve been the goody two-shoes and the party girl and the free-spirit and the career woman; I’ve existed as so many versions of myself that sometimes it’s hard to believe they all belong to me. 

In high school, I was my every teachers’ favourite pet, the student council president, the girl “most likely to succeed”, but never the prom queen. I was the abstinent-until-marriage epitome of innocence, listening to my favourite boy band and pinning photos of girls far cooler than me. Back then, my biggest dreams were working with the United Nations and getting a track and field scholarship to university. 

Little did I know then that I would share the stage with the United Nations by twenty, or that the lead singer of that boy band would later shake hands with me. And while I turned down the track and field scholarship, I made the podium at all three of my races recently. At twenty-six, it’s safe to say I’ve become the person I once pinned to my mood board; the world’s coolest cool girl to the sixteen-year-old version of me.

At nineteen, I found the antidote to boredom in a wild child streak. I got tattooed after brunch and pierced in the back of a hair salon. I cut bangs on a whim and dyed my hair every colour under the sun. I saw the back of a cop car and lived out of my vehicle for a summer. I became the girl who gave no f-cks and tried everything once.

I’ve run free across festival grounds and wove through crowds to the front row of my favourite artists. I’ve booked last-minute cross-continental trips and couch surfed with strangers. I’ve ripped down mountains and scrambled up summits and backpacked overnight off-grid. I’ve bungee jumped and mountain biked and sparred in boxing class, and I’ve loved every discovery I’ve made about the ways my body can move. 

I’ve lived in six cities across three continents and made unforgettable memories in twelve different countries. I’ve sailed on a pirate ship and plunged off cliffs. I’ve stolen the show at karaoke and crowd surfed my living room and seen the world’s most infamous clubs for myself. Once in a while, I worry about what others will think of all these daring decisions; but it’s a small price to pay for some of my life’s greatest stories.

And yet, all my rebellion has not made me unprofessional; I bring the same authenticity to the party as I do the board meeting. I am organized, and well-spoken, and always fight for the right thing. Nine year old me wrote that she would be Prime Minister in her diary; ten years later, I was making waves as a student politician demanding change from my university. Much of my adulthood has been actualizing my inner child’s dreams.

I tried the administrative thing, but the standard 9-to-5 was not for me. At twenty-two, I travelled the country with the army to aid communities through humanitarian emergencies. At twenty-three, I was publishing reports for national nonprofits and moving motions to reform my country’s welfare system. At twenty-four, I lobbied politicians for better sex-ed and moved across the world to conduct climate research. At twenty-five, I wrote a book and finished my master’s degree. I’ve grown up, and I still don’t know what I want to be - but I like the way my evolution is unfolding.

I have always felt more deeply than most. For a long time, it made me the misfit, the outcast, the bully’s favourite target. I’ve never been the popular girl, though I’ve been kicked out of enough sororities to say I gave it a good shot. I’ve learned that I can throw my own frat parties, that the misfits and outcasts make for better friends, and that I’ll always choose blazing my own trail over fitting anyone else’s expectations. I’ve never been the popular girl, but my life’s adventures have certainly made me the cool one. 

My life has not always come easy. I have built tenacity through trauma of all kinds - you name it, I’ve probably been through it. I’ve had my body stolen from me and been called a sl-t, a liar, and a b-tch for fighting to get it back. I’ve been rejected for my identities and shamed for my suffering. I’ve grieved loved ones I never thought I’d live without. I have lost everything to the hellish depths of mental illness, convinced that sunlight would never find me. 

And then, time and time again, I have stuck around long enough to watch my life grow far bigger than the sum of my most difficult experiences. I have found the strength to dig myself out of every hole I’ve fallen into. I have forgiven and I have sought forgiveness. I have worked hard to repair relationships and rebuild burnt bridges. I still have some walls up, some roughness around my edges, some deep-rooted wounds; but I have learned to seek wisdom and softness from those places too. 

I am the woman unafraid to take on the world, and the vulnerable girl, deeply afraid to get hurt. I’ve been the one who gave no f-cks and the one who cared too much. I’ve done the single thing, the situationship thing, the relationship thing and the celibate thing. I have been madly in love and devastated by its bittersweet, incomplete ending. I’ve kissed tough men and soft women, and stumbled into a sexuality big enough to see the beauty in every being.

I could spend a night with someone and write a poem about them. I could fall in love with someone and fill a book about them. Despite surviving hardships that would harden the hearts of most people, I have chosen deliberately to stay soft. I’ve tried to suppress it, but as I embark on my twenty-sixth year of living, I’ve come to accept that this is just how my heart is - forever on my sleeve. Sharing my inner world has made me a damn good writer, speaker and activist; one nationally recognised for my words, one whose voice has already graced international stages. 

I am twenty-six, and I am still standing. I am twenty-six and just getting started. At twenty-six, I have experienced so much, and still I am hungry for more. I am twenty-six and while I haven’t gone skydiving or driven a motorcycle or had my writing published yet, I have no doubts I’ll cross off those things soon. I am twenty-six and have lived enough life to write a book or two about, which is exactly what I plan to do.