How would you define the abstract?

I typed in a Google search, quite literally phrased ‘definition of abstract’. Adjective. Existing in thought or as an idea but not having any physical or concrete existence. Verb. Consider (something) theoretically or separately from something else.

A thought provoking jumping off point.

My definition of the abstract runs along those lines, but it strays more towards the introspective and inconclusive. For me, the abstract is the remainder of my thoughts. The aimless, wandering stream of consciousness. The uncharted and miscellaneous. The valuable yet difficult to describe. The rough draft. The cutting room floor. The soul, out of focus.

My 32nd birthday came and went on Monday. Birthdays aren’t something I’ve tried to put too much stock in over the past few years. I try to convince myself that I just don’t have the ego to really make a big deal out of my birthday, but there’s a part of me that does. A part of me that wants to feel like a special and integral part of people’s lives. There’s a part of me that wants someone to stop and think, “You know… Albert’s pretty cool. I’m glad I know that guy. I appreciate him. He’s pretty neat. I should say happy birthday.”

I think part of me tries to actively avoid acknowledging that kind of thirst for recognition because of what it’d mean if I didn’t receive it. What if I wanted to be an integral part of people’s lives and I can just be easily brushed past or looked over? What does that say about me? My worth? My value?

I’ve gotten to a place where, objectively, I seek to find value in my own opinion myself before anything else but wrestling with those kinds of thoughts are an exercise in emotional turmoil that I could probably do without.

And so, I leave celebration of my birthday more to the fringe. A passing thought. An annual fear of rejection where I hide insecurities behind a genuine sense of humility.

My birthday also serves as a marker of sorts. This one in particular, where at the start of the year I dared myself to venture into uncharted waters and to pursue my perception of happiness in ways I haven’t exactly before. Where I dared to face some of the very demons that leave me quiet about my birthday.

It’s hard to think it’s already been 8 months since I’ve tried to write that next chapter in my life. As my birthday approached, surreal as it was, I asked myself if I had accomplished or at least been accomplishing the goals I so loftily set out for myself in January.

I honestly don’t know.

I feel that I am a wiser, more mature, and more soulful person. For that, I am thankful. Am I happier? I don’t know. Something I’ve been thinking about, which I ended up saying to someone who’s become quite a good friend to me of late, is that I think true happiness lies with gaining acceptance and contentment with the journey rather than the destination. A destination, a place where you have never been before, is only as accurate as your perception and does not necessarily guarantee the kind of happiness you feel it will when you set out to reach it.

So where are you left if those dreams come true, and you aren’t happy? Are you worse off than before? Further disillusioned by the reality of wondering if all your effort meant anything? Does life feel like some form of cosmic or practical joke, where your best laid plans and endeavors end as a passing punchline that plops you back to start?

Again, I honestly don’t know.

I do know that I feel better equipped to quarrel with the rampancy of my thoughts and the peril ingrained in my journey. In these past 8 months I have had successes. I have had failures. I have aimed for the stars, and have been unceremoniously brought back to Earth. I have pulled on my slingshot to slay Goliath, and I have felt certain victory slip through my fingers.

I am still here. Just as I was last year. And the year before that.

But am I in the same place as then? Or someplace new?

I like to think I have ventured forward. That I’ve evolved into something more wise, more spiritual. More mature. And in some ways I know I have.

But at my core, do the same problems still exist? Will they always? They could be. And that, in a lot of ways, is fine. I can live with that, regardless of the choice in the matter. Living with those existential questions are a part of the quirks and idiosyncrasies that make me ‘me’.

Am I happier now than I was a year ago? Five years ago? Ten? I don’t know. I still harbor a sense of regret over some things. I still wonder if all of the decisions I’ve made have been the right ones. I still pontificate about the alternate iterations of reality that exist if only I had zigged when I ended up zagging. I try to leave those hypotheticals before I delve too far. Perhaps the past should stay the past. Perhaps not, but I have to embrace and make the most out of the present. It’s all any of us really have. The past and future are generally just interpretations. That’s something I learned the hard way this year.

I think I am a better person than I was a year ago. And not particularly because of what’s different about my life but because of the light I’ve shone on insecurities I have long since tried to bury deep in my mind. It hasn’t been easy, or even all that fun. But there’s a sense of understanding that comes out of taking time to learn more about yourself. To become curious about your insecurities, what makes you happy, sad, jealous, annoyed, or anything else on the emotional spectrum.

I could very well end up being the only person to ever genuinely have interest in that sort of thing, after all. I have a lot of lessons to learn; perhaps even to teach someday.

So, happy birthday, Albert. You sure as shit aren’t perfect, but you’re giving it the old college try in spite of that. Maybe everything you want out of life is around the corner or down the road. Maybe none of it will ever come your way. But I respect your want to find out, and to put your best foot forward as you best know how.

I don’t know how many people are capable of saying the same, truly. And I think that’s pretty neat of you. So, smile. No matter how you’re feeling. Accept your flaws. Your shortcomings. Your mistakes. Forgive yourself for them. Dare to do better. Dare to improve.

You’re the only you in this universe. And even if you’re the only one that ever ends up appreciating that, that’s something. That’s everything.

Find yourself in the abstract.