I turned 23 today and I'm not completely sure how I feel about it. It feels different than my other birthdays, that is for sure. Maybe it's because I now find myself on the other side of the age paradox—no longer the kid who wants to be a grown-up, but rather the grown-up who wants to be a kid. Maybe it’s because at this time last year I was living in London, about to move to Manhattan, and now I’m living in my childhood bedroom, with no end to quarantine in sight. Regardless, I don’t just see today as a day to celebrate, I also see it as a day to reflect. I see it as a day to look back at where I was last year and remember where I wanted to go next. I see it as a day to ask myself honestly if I have arrived at that place, and if not, if I still want to go there.
It makes me think of an old adage: “If you have an old wooden boat and slowly you replace pieces of wood until every piece has been replaced is it a new boat or is it the same boat?” I think of myself as the wooden boat, attempting to traverse the waters of life. Today, on my 23rd birthday, I can’t help but wonder: “Am I the same boat? And if I’m not, is that a bad thing?” My perspective has drastically evolved over the past few years.
I believe that perspective is a product of priorities. In life, as in archery, you tend to look where you aim and you aim at what you value. For me, the best way to get to know someone's priorities—to determine what they value—is to watch what they do rather than listen to what they say. Actions speak louder than words.
So, what have my actions said about me? In middle school, I spent a lot of my time playing golf and posting mirror pictures on Facebook. In high school, I spent a lot of my time playing soccer and studying for the SAT. In college, I spent a lot of my time partying with friends and cramming for exams. And now, here in quarantine, I spend most of my time working (at an investment bank) and reading books.
Over the years, my priorities have clearly evolved. Almost everything I’ve valued in life has changed. My core assumptions about the world have been shattered. I imagine talking to middle school Jarred, telling him that soon golf will just be a hobby. I imagine talking to high school Jarred, telling him that in two years time, his SAT score couldn't matter less. I imagine talking to college Jarred, telling him that there will soon come a time when standing on a table, yelling the lyrics to an old Jason Derulo song, surrounded by lots of belligerently drunk and sweaty people, will no longer be his idea of a Saturday night well spent. I imagine telling these old versions of myself that their core beliefs about the world are wrong.
What would these previous Jarreds say? Would they shake their head and tell me I don't know what I am talking about? Probably. Angsty middle school Jarred? Almost certainly.
My priorities have continually shaped the lens through which I have seen the world. This has helped me accomplish near term goals—but at what cost? I am now realizing that my priorities were also my blinders, subconsciously filtering out huge parts of life’s possibilities.
I honestly laugh at the way I used to look at the world, accepting the status quo as an untouchable religion. I spent years of my life doing things that I now deem to be wholly unimportant. As I type this, I contemplate the inevitability of my current naivete. Am I taking off my old set of blinders only to put on a new set? If I am, is this bad? Is this inevitable? What will I find out in 10 years that I will wish I had known now? Would I truly be better off knowing it now, or will figuring it out be the most valuable part? These are the questions I grapple with.
After reflecting, my answer to all of them is a firm maybe. I actually do not think there is a right answer to any of them. Many people spend their entire lives talking and thinking—perhaps I should just be doing.
More productively I ask myself: "What can I do today?" Five years from now, will I write this essay with the same sense of disbelief? “Jarred, I cannot believe you spent 90+ hours a week formatting Powerpoints for a living.” Ten years from now, will I be married and wonder what I did with my prime energy? Twenty years from now, will I have kids of my own and wonder...scratch that...be angry and frustrated by how I let the precious time of my youth slip away?
What's clear to me now, reinforced by the exercise of writing this essay, is that change is inevitable. We are a product of evolution. I subscribe to the notion that it is not the strongest or most intelligent that survives, but rather the most able to change. Why then, am I so innately resistant to looking at and challenging my core beliefs? Why am I afraid to change my behavior?
Perhaps I am scared—or maybe confused. I am not entirely sure what is on the other side. I often inch closer—picking up a new book, beginning to learn a new skill, starting a difficult conversation—but retreat back to the solace of my comfort zone.
Change is hard. I see this essay as one step in the right direction. I am not writing this for anyone else. I am writing this for me. This is an acknowledgment of opportunity—the opportunity to embrace uncertainty and challenge my core assumptions. The opportunity to learn about the world and about myself.
It is a process, with no end in sight. I am excited for this journey. I am excited to laugh at this essay in the future.
Onwards.
Thank you to everyone who made 22 so amazing. Special shout out to my good friend Jordan Gonen for helping me with this essay.