self-editing

It was my birthday last Thursday. I tried to convince myself that I was getting younger, at least younger in spirit. I wore a new dress that was made to my dimensions, I bought new underwear to adjust to the fact that I have somehow grown ‘mild hips’ at my age, and I went to NYC to be in a city that I love. *for the record, I still do not have those curvy, childbearing hips that make women so feminine. I’m still pretty much non-child-bearing-friendly. In more ways than one.

I got a birthday card that said ‘Party like you’re 21’, from a 21 year old. I’m still in my 20’s for god’s sake, and quite frankly, can ‘party’ just fine.

I told someone that is 23-24 my age. They said ‘wow, well you don’t look it’. Really?!! This wasn’t making me feel better. I have never turned an age before and had these sorts of comments. I’m really not that much older than you, right? What is the world coming to?

My weekend in NY was great and I had an inspiring birthday. I was feeling motivated and excited; I hung out with people that were using their artistic skills in their jobs and lives, and it made me happy.
When we got back to Boston, my housemate had a friend in town that lives in L.A. and is a rather well respected producer. In fact his nickname, in jest, is F.H.P. Famous Hollywood Producer. Hanging out with more people that work in their art/medium continued the good vibes.

Having stayed up past 3 am for the three previous nights, and probably drinking a little too much (ha ha ha 21 year old), Sunday was to be a day of rest from the too much food, too much cake, and social butterflying.
I played the piano for a little while, pleased to hear my voice was sounding normal again (it had been acting weird), and happy with some songs I’ve been working on. Then I remembered that the people from the website http://mel.opho.be had posted an interview of us over the weekend. They had come to our two previous shows, took great photos, said nice things, and asked if they could come by a rehearsal and ask us some questions.

This is where things go down hill.

The guys at the site are great and generous. We like them very much. The thing that we don’t like is not self-editing ourselves knowing that we are being taped. Maybe it’s because we were in rehearsal, just hanging out, being dumb and relatively uninteresting, literally using less discretion than meeting someone random for the first time. Or maybe we really are this unintelligent when we speak and really should reflect and try to better ourselves. Matt was ok, but I somehow turned into a valley girl teenager, complete with endless ‘likes’ and ‘I’m alls’. When I lived in California and people would say ‘I’m all, no way. And then he was all, are you serious?’, I would cringe in disgust. But lo and behold, ‘I’m all’ saying it all the damn time. What happened to me? I read constantly. Some people have said they think I’m smart. Some clinically proven and tested smart people have even said that I’m smart. I fear they will take it all back after reading this interview and it becomes clear-- I have lost my mind altogether.

Chemicals start rolling over and dying in my brain. I start to sink again. I’m not motivated. I’m bordering on ‘not good at all’. I’m an amateur. Why would anyone listen to this? I’m going to become a housewife that shovels in the winter, plants in the spring, harvests in the summer, and bakes bread in the fall. I’m gonna get sup'd up on prescription pills and numb all my senses and forget my desires and hopes of ever doing anything with my life that involved art of any kind. 21 year olds think I’m old. I’m starting to believe it. I didn’t think this way 3 days ago. Shut up, Rabdau. Snap out of it. Get yourself under control. Learn from your mistakes.

Ok. Ok. Ok. I’m not dumb, I misjudged. The world is not ending. The sky isn’t falling. Would it be better if it were?

Ok. Ok. Ok. Stopping. Breathing.

I go to the bathroom to freshen up before I step out and get some groceries. I look in the mirror and realize that the lines that have started to peak out around my eyes over the past few weeks are not going away. It’s not because I’m dehydrated, it’s not because the air is dry, it’s because despite my efforts with creams and young in spirit mantras, I’m getting older and it doesn’t go away. It’s not a phase. It’s real.

That’s when I lost it.

I don’t feel old, and I’m not old, and I know it. I do feel mature for the first time in my life, and that does kind of blow for some reason. But there’s something that goes on in our culture that makes women especially, feel like shit simply for living their lives according to normal human progression cycles. Is there some sort of disease that exists for people that are hyper aware of aging? Sort of like an eating disorder but with aging? That doesn’t involve the desire for plastic surgery? I think I’m getting it. I think our country is getting it.

I’m not one of those people that created the best work of their life at 22. I didn’t. It was kind of shitty, in fact. I am getting better with age, both as a person and an artist, and I hope I continue to. What I also hope is that this feeling of imminent doom and insecurity of purpose goes away. I’m praying it will once the album is done. That I will be able to listen back to it all and hear and believe that it was all worth it and I’ve done the right thing. Even though I get older along the way.

Because, apparently, that’s not a phase.