Liam Sharma: This is what I’ve learnt in 2020
Every New Year’s Eve, right before the clock strikes midnight, I swiftly manoeuvre myself behind some dumpster portaloo and have a not so tactical yack to ensure I can proceed on with the festivities in tip-top shape. If I am one thing, it’s elegant, darling. It’s a tradition! I want to be as fresh as possible before I enter a new year. I mean, don’t you? My stomach is always so empty it rumbles as if there is an underground VIP mosh pit in my belly.
Lately, I’ve been backtracking my way through 2020. My first memory is being able to barely stand up on a dried-out field at Joe’s Farm’s 2019 New Year’s Festival. I was gagging on a $4 hotdog, wearing a foul black AS colour hoodie that I hadn’t taken off in three days, whilst trying to string together one-worded conversations with my friends who had accepted I was beyond inaudible. I’ll never forget they had a Spotify playlist counting us down because someone forgot to book a musician for the actual countdown. Iconic.
I remember saying a little prayer to myself when the crackly speakers paused for a second and some punter announced it was “officially New Years!!” I always say a little prayer to myself at midnight on New Year’s Eve. It’s the only time I allow myself the chance to pray. You see, I don’t believe in God or a higher power. When something goes wrong, I cry. I complain. I let it consume me and burden me. I’ve never learnt how to trust in a higher power or feel the need to equate my life’s nuances to karma or something abstract. I relish in my emotions, and I live through them. It’s the only way I’ve been taught to process my feelings. I’m not saying my way is the best, hell; it could be the worst. But it’s all I know.
My 30 second New Year’s Eve prayer is my ritual. It’s sacred to me, and it has been for the last ten or so years. I’ve prayed for various things over the years, including some vapid crap. For so long, I dreamt about slimming myself down; I wanted to be tiny, minuscule, skinniest cat in the trash bag alley. Then for a while, I wanted to find someone who made me feel whole, a person who I’d eat mud cakes with at midnight, someone to come home to.
I don’t usually tell anyone my New Year’s Eve prayers; it’s personal. It’s mine! But for the point of this, I’ll let bits slip out. In 2019, I prayed that I’d be gone come 2020’s New Year’s Eve showdown. Ideally, right now, I’d be shacked up in London being a bad bitch in the monarch. Drinking beer at a pub or some shit. That’s really all I wanted. I just wanted to leave; I wanted nothing more than to see the backside of New Zealand. I’d put my life on going, my happiness, everything I had left in the tank.
As I was saying, I’ve been backtracking my way through 2020. To be honest, I’ve been stumbling. I barely remember anything that happened in the first couple of months, but I remember March. Oh boy do I remember March. Actually, my year started in March 2020. The Liam who was living in January and February 2020 is dead, that person doesn’t exist anymore.
Selfishly, the whole world needed to be flipped upside down for me to realise everything I have wanted for so long was nothing I really needed. I don’t know about you, but sometimes I feel like I never stop. Fuck smelling the roses, I want the next best thing. I’m addicted to the rush. I’ve taught myself that if I don’t keep pushing myself, sniffing out the next destination, falling into my next big dream – I’m failing, I associate stagnancy with mediocrity.
But I was forced to stop.
I’ve taken the concept of planning for granted. The ability to foster my own paths, to feed my plans, create a life for myself without really huge curve-balls around every corner. I’ve been made to live in the moment. I’ve been forced to appreciate what has been around me, and look at myself and accept that, well, right now, this is all I am.
As I slowed down and started to consume life with cutlery instead of shovelling it down with my bare hands, I’ve picked up a thing or two.
I’ve learnt that you’re only as full as you feel. I’ve wasted years consuming people, objects and concepts that I thought would round me out. I’ve had this agonising insatiable appetite. I never stopped wanting more of the next best thing. I was forever empty, my gas lights were always on.
I’ve learnt boundaries. Whenever I think of boundaries, I think of the giant sand circles I used to draw around myself with a stick as a child at my beach house. I was so adamant about creating a perfect 360, but that is as far as I’ve gotten with setting my boundaries. I’ve been okay with people running all over me for so long, as long as they still liked me. I’ve learnt that I’m allowed to let people down. Being a people pleaser is a tedious, arduous job. But if you are one (and I know a few of you are), you’ll know it’s a hard habit to kick. It’s self-taught and self-preserved to keep the anxiety at night at bay. I think when everything fucked up, you saw people with perfect porcelain skin crack. You realised how human we all are. You realised it was okay just to say “no fucking way”. I think I realised I owed no one an explanation. I think I realised I had a circle around myself the whole time, and I just kept letting people encroach it at their desires.
I learnt that the relentless pursuit of this perfect human image is going to kill me. I swear. The amount of time I spend thinking about the different ways I could slim myself down, spruce my personality up, how I could have more or be more is going to send me to my grave. What I realised was I was never really doing it for myself, but really, I was doing it for everyone else. I don’t know how to fix this. I wish I could. I think there is growth in identification. I want to be happy with myself one day, and I think I will be.
I always knew I was privileged, I just don’t think I understood the definition of privilege. I’m ashamed at parts of my life, I’m grossed out at my entitlement. I’ve learnt that I need to do better, people I consider part of my life deserve more from me. I’ve heard a loudness I could have never fathomed before. I’ve learnt how to listen.
I’ve watched my friends find love, get married, settle down. I’ve seen people build lives all around me, and there have been points when all I’ve felt like doing is crawling up into a Lil ball in my sock draw because it’s all I can muster up at that moment in time. When I was unemployed, single and living at home, that’s all I had to show for myself. So I’ve built on that. I’ve tried to offer parts of myself to the world that I thought people would appreciate, I appreciate anyone who has helped me build a home within myself.
I’ve learnt to celebrate the small wins. I used to struggle going to the supermarket alone – it gave me too much anxiety. I didn’t know how to spend a Saturday night by myself because I found myself boring. I used to hate going anywhere sober, I thought people liked the whacked-out version of me more. I thought I was boring served up cold. At the tender age of 25, being able to cook myself dinner (be that packet pasta or not) and read a book at home alone, well, it’s an achievement for me in itself. Because I’m taking the time to understand what I like and what I might not like. I wanted everyone to show me, I’m starting to show myself.
I’ve learnt that fine lines around my mouth are a sign that I’ve been laughing. I’ve learnt that sunscreen might just be the only fountain of youth. I’ve learnt that I need to hold the door open for people, but it’s equally important for me to slam the door on pricks’ fingers, if necessary. I’ve learnt that snuggles with my nine month old nephew, Juniper, might just cure any issue I’m having. I’ve learnt that writing love notes to myself is just as good as having them written for me. I’ve learnt that I should drink tea when it’s at its hottest and eat three bags of salt and vinegar chips in one sitting if I feel like it. I’ve learnt that I am still really coming to terms with my sexuality, and that’s okay.
2020 was the fork in the road. Through all the anarchy, through the losses that have lasted for weeks, and wins that have come few and far between – the world has kept spinning. Cells have kept dividing. People have fallen in love. People have fallen out of love. You’ve made mistakes, I’ve kept making the same mistakes and falling into holes I’ve dug for myself. Through all the uncertainty, there has been a constant certainty that nothing will ever be the same. Tomorrow. Today. Yesterday. It will keep going. I’ve found a sense of comfort knowing that 2020 didn’t stop the world. I’ve watched the sunrise one night at 5 AM smoking a Rothman Blue on my balcony with deer light eyes, I’ve watched the stars kiss the moon goodnight, and I got the goosebumps knowing it would happen all over again. Because, really, however huge I think my problems are, they will never stop the world dead in its tracks. There will always be a way for me to learn, to grow – there will always be another thing I fuck up or another person who disappoints me. I will continue to feel everything and nothing all at the same time. I’m still learning.
Words — Liam Sharma
