On Sparkling
Lorde released her debut album, Pure Heroine, at sixteen to massive critical and global acclaim. She wrote of the rawness of adolescence and her own grappling with her coming-of-age, describing the way, “teenagers sparkled–[how] they knew something children didn’t know and adults forgot.” She speaks of rebellion as a fact of life and of being.
Because of her, I dreamt of the quintessence of being a sixteen-year-old girl who goes to concerts by herself; who has posters all over her walls and dances during witching hour; who is on the cusp of prom-dress-shopping season; and who just epitomizes “cool.” Sixteen exists between the reality of adulthood and the boundlessness of childhood, and I want to make the most of it. I want to sparkle.
Of course, I used to believe that each of these perfect moments can be found, bestowed upon me by some fate or power who has chosen it just for me. It’s romantic to think of everything just as that which is chosen for you; it makes you feel important and real and big. It is by this belief that I wish on every fallen eyelash or dandelion, just in case the next, perfect moment should find me soon.
The reality of waiting is, however, exhausting. I spend a lot of my time in reflection, dreaming of what could have been and everything that could be, though often neglecting the present. I’ve always been estranged from the carpe diem mindset–too much is going on for me to possibly concern myself with anything else but what comes next.
Really, it’s paralyzing. When you fear living loudly, you don’t really live at all.
I realized, albeit too recently, that perfect moments are created. Just as New York’s city skyline or Lorde’s discography are capsules of the human spirit and innovation, so are my visions of a sparkling adolescence.
Rather than continue to wallow in the often underwhelming reality of my “sixteen,” as compared to Lorde’s, “reeling through the midnight streets,” or “[living] beside the pool,” I have begun to seek out perfect moments. I go to coffee shops whenever possible, and I bake as often as I can. I’ve found that I can invite magic into every ordinary moment.
There’s magic in taking the tram around San Francisco and spontaneous picnicking with take-out quesadillas. There’s rawness in a conversation set by a grassy lawn and beauty in the tears that follow. There’s heaviness in the admission that maybe, I have no idea who I am, and relief in knowing that I have a little longer to figure that out.
Finally, it all settles.
There is a bright and unwavering radiance in continuing to find those perfect, cathartic moments over and over again–a reminder that I will continue to be interesting, far past sixteen, and that I will continue to sparkle.
