Several times this year I have heard how our experience of time changes as you get older. It’s not a
figment of our imagination. Once in comparison to my nephew (the little star)
and how as he has only a few months behind him the learning and experiences
stretch each day out to an exhausting endlessness (not for him, he bloody loves
it.) For us… our experience of life slows as the ‘new’ is just less often. I’m
pretty sure I don’t fit into this category. I’m like a bloody four year old.
One thing I’ve learned, through physical
accidents, from falling off waterfalls, crashing my bike, tripping up stairs
(as I’m too excited to be up said stairs) to massive wins; successfully
navigating a ten foot fence in five inch heels again and again, not falling off my bike most of
the time, is that I like to move at a certain pace. That pace needs to include
lots of new scary things to distract me from the reality of being alive.
KIDDING. I’m just wired that way. GO GO GO.
Take accidents in love. Things
are more invigorating when you take a risk and jump in face first. Sometimes
the water isn’t that deep and we smash our face off and all our teeth fall out
and our nose is broken. But sometimes it’s a freeking beautiful natural pool
and you have a lovely splash and a swim and feel all alive.
In 2016 I turn 30. All old and that. I’m
very excited about being 30. When I was about 25 a very brilliant theatre
producer told me to just lie about my age when people weren’t taking me
seriously – so I have on and off for the last five years. Now I feel like I can
own my age. I wanted to be an adult since I was about eight years old, and here
I am with the sage and sass of a seven year old in a dance competition. Winning
on my terms. Cutting terrible shapes.
I have no plans to change now… as I storm
into the next decade Imma just own it, imagine I got the minnie mouse leotard I
always wanted (imagine it fits) smear some lipstick on my teeth and grab those
moves with both hands. Let’s dance.
