Tick Tick Boom

Not too long ago I carefully set intricate filters on my information consumption. When I was selecting a new book, I only picked up literature in the self-help or business section. When I was searching for a podcast, I only looked for podcasts that would teach me something new in a category I was fond of. In my free time, instead of scrolling through social media, I watched free MIT courseware on quantum physics or child developmental psychology. Glorified robot who? Fast forward to the present day and I am so sick of those robotic tendencies that I actively defy them. I will pick a podcast on a topic I disagree with, I will read what I call a "pool book" (the kind of trashy romantic novels that fancy mommies read baking by the pool on a hot summer day), and after getting all quantum physic-ed out, I started making trips to Netflix land. How rebellious of me. Sometimes to test my engagement and openness to thought processes divergent from mine, I will scroll blindly and pick a random book or podcast, doing my best to make it to the end, hopefully walking away with an expanded way of thinking or viewing the world.

So that brings me to Tick Tick Boom. This past weekend I was working on some Christmas gifts and turned on the TV to fill the empty house with background noise. For absolutely no apparent reason, and without even reading the (always intriguingly vague) movie description, I clicked Tick Tick Boom. This movie would turn out to be a melancholy trip down memory lane that led me straight to a door of possibility. 

The original movie description reads: On the brink of turning 30, a promising theater composer navigates love, friendship, and the pressure to create something great before time runs out.

What the movie description didn't tell me was that the film is based on a true story that adapts the semi-autobiographical musical Tick Tick Boom by Jonathan Larson, an acclaimed American composer decorated with award after award, not to mention a Pulitzer Prize for Drama. 

The movie explores age as a race against the clock of achievement. Through song, dance, and theatrics Jonathan brings to life his struggle to accomplish the dreams he set out to achieve by 30 years old while balancing friendship, personal relationships, and family. Although my dreams never looked like bringing a musical to broadway before the ripe age of 30, the movie reminded me of a version of myself that seems like a distant memory. 

The terms "off-brand" and "on-brand" have taken a new meaning lately. Instead of referring to Frosted Flakes as "on-brand" or the generic grocery store brand as "off-brand", the words are being applied to personality traits. For example, it is very on-brand for me to spend a week in the woods. My friends are in agreeance that it is not only off-brand but nearly never-even-made-it-to-the-shelf that I used to be a competitive dancer. 

I wasn't a casual dancer - the world was my stage and I danced all over it. From three years old to 17 years old, I thought about dance from sun up to sun down, I twirled around the kitchen when I wasn't being yelled at to point my toes harder in class, my mind was a constant dress rehearsal, and there are periods where my memories of the dance studio outweigh my memories at home. I was a performer, I was fearless, and the stage was mine.

Tick Tick Boom reminded me that she used to exist - that version of me that is so "off-brand" from who I am now that it is hardly believable. The girl that thrived in the limelight now hates artificial light, the girl that could dance in front of a crowd of thousands would probably not even dance in front of one person, the girl who thought at one point that she was racing against the clock to prove herself as a dancer to support her lifelong career in the arts now works for a software company - and that to me is astounding; it is astounding how we can be so many different people in just one life.

At some point I became too aware of myself, my fear of being front and center dominated my love of being there, and performing became draining. Between learning how to dance in my body that was no longer thin and straight, being consumed by the pressures of the performing industry, and feeling like enough was never enough, the burnout had grown from a single flame to a fiery rage burning me every chance it got. I shut the door on being a dancer, 14 years gone, and just like that, I needed to figure out who I would be next. 

On the outside, I am not a dancer anymore (even though sometimes deep down I really miss it), I am a nature-lovin'-rock-touchin'-hobbyist.

Thinking about who I've been makes me wonder what other personas I will meet in my life. Will I, like Jonathan Larson, start to hear the ticking clock echo in my ears as I race toward leaving my mark on the world? Will I become a novelist, a homebuilder, a wife? What about a researcher, a humanitarian, a farmer? Lately, I've been thinking that the substance of these things - laying down the foundation of a home or putting pen to paper - is more important than I ever thought. While the pursuit of becoming something and the act of doing something will only make up a fraction of who I am, it is the precipice for identity formation itself. By finding art and expression in dance, by finding mind-body connection in climbing, by writing this blog, or by developing my professional career, I am initiating these mini-cycles of self-discovery that keep the continuous cycle of identity formation alive:

1. Discovering and developing my potential

2. Deciding what I want my purpose to be

3. Actively seek opportunity implement both my potential and purpose

When I realized that my identity will not be complete until my very last days, I found greater reverence for the 14 years I spent dancing instead of feeling like it might have been wasted time. During those formative years, I was scraping the surface of discovering and developing my creative potential, it inspired me to wiggle out of my own microcosm and think about what I want my purpose to be, and it gave me the grounds to continue developing my potential and testing my purpose. Although I will not carry dance with me, I will carry the potential and purpose I found in it with me for the rest of my life. 

This realization is one that excites me; trying new things and taking risks doesn't have to be so black and white, so scary - it is not about success and failure but rather about potential and purpose being the vehicle that drives you through each season of life to where you need to be. 

With that in mind, I know this: I will continue to develop my potential in all aspects of my life so long as they are serving my purpose, and when they no longer do, I will discover a new layer of myself again and again. My identity is not complete, and that is exciting to me. 

If my life were a movie right now, the (intriguingly vague) movie description would read sometime not too dissimilar to Jonathan's: On the brink of turning 25, a jane-of-all-trades-master-of-none navigates love, friendship, and the pressure to create something great before time runs out.

SPOILER ALERTS FOLLOW

Jonathan Larson died at 35 years old on January 25, 1996, the day his Pulitzer Prize-winning musical Rent hit broadway for the first time. Through the theme of time running short, we learn that Jonathan was deeply concerned about not making anything of himself and the irony of this story is a heartbreaking one. When his success rolled around - ocean-sized success that stretched as far as the imaginative eye can see - he was not there to see it. The lesson he leaves behind is a powerful one and much more layered and complex than I can write about in this post, but as it pertains to how we spend our time on this earth, I'll leave you with this

My thanks at the bottom of these blogs will probably never stop. Thank you for reading, thank you for your feedback, and thank you for sticking with me. Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!