who knows if saturn ever actually returned to me? i spent so much of my late twenties tormenting myself over whether i was making a significant impact on the world, or if i ever would. back then, my imagination for what that meant only extended far enough to envision crowdsurfing in madison square garden, raking up myspace followers, and having my songs featured on nah right.
10 years later, venues are vacant, the currency of myspace couldn’t be traded for wooden nickels, and nahright.com is proof that all domains eventually expire. but i still struggle with the pressures of external validation, even today as i ripen into age 38. over the past decade, i’ve brushed shoulders with stars and stuck my nose into some of the highest institutions, and can report back that there is no name heavy enough to drop my insecurities, no brand iconic enough to make me recognize my own self. the deepest lesson of my thirties has been that nothing revolves around me, especially not planets.
but how liberating this lesson has been! the thirties can sometimes feel like an existential limbo between saturn’s return and midlife crisis, with the world telling you that in order to ascend you must fill your jetpack with accomplishments. but what’s so bad about a midway point in life? when can we ever transcend crises?
each year i witness more calculi of my self-worth disintegrate into the vapid metrics they are. each year i age out of another “XX Under XX” list of who’s-who’s, i encounter more biographies of people who accomplished in their youth what i’ve come to peace is not for me to grasp. i find myself doing old shit like believing in the next generation.
the voices in my head despise when i come to these realizations. they argue that this is evidence that i’ve settled for less, that i’ve pardoned myself for being past my prime, that i’ve stopped dreaming. the other day i revisited chappelle’s block party for the first time since that period of aimless longing. if only i was so important that they’d make a documentary about a slice of my life, i fantasized. i had myself believe that my value could be condensed into a biopic, some viral videos, and a bangin wikipedia entry. that if i jumped through enough hoops eventually they’d transform into the rings of a saturn returned to me, that this would be proof that i ever existed in this universe.
for the record, i believe i traversed saturn’s return swimmingly – not because i found a loving partner or a job attached to a recognizable logo, not because i exchange texts with people who have blue checkmarks or keep having to shrink the font on my CV. but because i’m on a journey to discovering my own center of gravity, as i did when i was young and could spend an afternoon playing under the sun, yearning for nothing more than for the day to never end. this birthday, i celebrate by returning to myself.