Foolish Wisdom
The long anticipated (and much desired) end of the teenage years never quite seems to be what people hope for it to be. It’s just as awkward and chaotic and incomprehensible as the rest of the teenage years (though hopefully most have reached the point of being able to say ‘I’m too old to think your self-centered drama is cute’ cos it never really was). But the difference between being on the threshold of adulthood and being on the threshold of the teenage years is that when you’re on the threshold of the teenage years you think you know who you want to be and when you’re on the threshold of adulthood you’re beginning to understand that life is something that, as the mere mortals we are, we just don’t get. So, yeah, it’s kind of completely mad, and sometimes there are circumstances you cannot change or there’s some kind of bs that doesn’t work out-so what? Think for a moment, is any of that anything to really complain about? I know better than some that life can suck beyond the telling of it sometimes-I’m not the world’s most stable person (and really just what exactly is stable anyways?). But, as of late, I’ve been thinking-I can either let the circumstances I grew up with (and subsequently people who really don’t mean a damn thing to me) control the rest of my life, or I pick up the pen, take responsibility, and write my own story. Think about this: you’re alive, you’re breathing, you have the ability to make something of your life because you still have one. And that’s a reason to smile, that’s a reason to celebrate. Our stories are ours to write, no one controls the outcome except us. So what story do you want to write?
Nineteen years after I started writing mine I finally figured out what story I want to write. Or rather whose story. In order to write her story, she needs an introduction to the world stage. The woman I want to introduce revels in the Foolish Wisdom that are the lessons life teaches and always takes the chance to dance, on stage or in the dark. Allow me to introduce my alter ego, Logan Sage Quinn. If you’ll allow me to be that crazy kind of metaphorical that writers love for just a moment, I’d like to explain ‘my’ name. Logan is a Gaelic name meaning ‘hollow,’ Sage is an English name that means ‘wise,’ Quinn is another Gaelic name (it’s meaning-Son/Descendant of Cuinn-is irrelevant. It doesn’t mean much to me, it just fit.) Combining the meanings of Logan and Sage you get ‘Hollow Wise’ or, more loosely translated, foolish wisdom. Logan has little, if anything, to do with the person I was growing up, but I never much liked her anyways (does anybody really like their teenage self in retrospect?). But I like Logan. I like her a lot. And the more I chip away at that shell of a rather off-putting person I somehow became, the more I move towards her. For the first time in my life I have-at the same time-a support system, an idea of a path, and a place where I belong. So I’m taking a a leap of faith and I’m going to see how Logan does in the real world. The next few month will be chaotic, and bumpy, maybe even a little awkward, but I banking on them being a beautiful mess.
Go n-eírí an bóthar leat,
Logan
“We should all start to live before we get too old. Fear is stupid. So are regrets.” —Marilyn Monroe
