Someone once told me that I was untarnished. It was meant to be a compliment. I was 19, but I felt much older and experienced than other 19 year olds. I was confused – I did not have the life experience necessary to fully understand what that meant. I was full of life, joy, passion, and I saw the good in everyone. This was true, I knew that much, but I couldn’t understand why someone would tell me such a thing – it implied that at some point I would be tarnished. That somewhere along the line I would lose my shine, I’d get dull, I’d lose my sparkle. I remember being full of pride — like, yes, I am shiny and joyful and happy, AND that’s how I will always be!
It perplexes me to think about how much that single comment has stuck with me over the years. I think about it often. And I can recall the first time I realized that I was, indeed, losing my sparkle. Each heartbreak, each time someone let me down, each time I was faced with “real life”: all tiny scratches on my once untarnished surface.
And it’s truly sad, isn’t it? The person who started this whole thing, who told me that I was untarnished, likely saw themselves in that young and happy version of myself. It’s sad to think that they were longing for a time in their life that they, too, were untarnished. It makes me sad to think about how sad they were in that moment. How naive I was to think others were as shiny as I was. How unaware I was of the world around me.
…
It’s been 10 years since I had the experience I am writing about here, and another handful of years since I started writing this post. I’m back to finish it, and it’s probably going to end differently than it would have had I finished it all those years ago.
But is ‘untarnished’ actually what I should want to be? Maybe to be tarnished is actually to have a well-earned patina. Perhaps the tiny scratches are what make us unique, valuable, one of a kind — a gift to the world, with much to teach, share, pass on. Perhaps longing for a younger and more naive version of ourselves isn’t actually worth longing for.
Yes, I am tarnished. People have let me down. I have failed. I have been lied to, left behind, manipulated, and deprioritized. Yes, I have opened my heart to people, places, experiences that had no intention of reciprocating. And, yes, those experiences hurt, and over time they became scar tissue – walls, borders, reasons to keep people at an arm’s distance, to shelter myself away.
Are hurtful experiences meant to push us further away from what we were after in the first place? Confirmation that we are not as good as we thought we were? Or could they be learnings, lessons, helpful forks in the road that finesse our judgement? Could they be the biggest blessing in disguise?
Had I not earned my patina, I’d still think that everyone wants to see the world like I do, and I’d probably still be in my own world, spending time with people who don’t actually care to hear what I have to say. Staying in that narrow, naive headspace actually gets me further away from finding the people who actually do care, and my scars get me closer to finding the people who actually are my people.
Only when I find the community that I know exists, the ripple effect can start. You can’t change the world by trying to change people who don’t want to be changed, who don’t speak your language, who don’t want to hear what you have to say. You can change the world by changing yourself, leading by example, working with the willing. You may have a lot of love to give, a lot of joy to spread, a lot of wisdom to share. You can keep it to yourself, you can live in your own safe bubble and protect it from the world, from developing a patina, from getting scratched… but when you look around, are you lonely? Is having a perfectly untarnished surface worth anything if it’s hidden? Do you wish you could be seen? Do you wish you could share some of what you hold so dear with the rest of the world?
Scratches, dents, scars, patina, tarnish, whatever you want to call it. It’s a blessing, a privilege even, and it’s not something to mourn – the 19 year old who was proud of being full of shine is still here. She’s just smarter, more experienced, and even more equipped to accomplish what she was after all those years ago.
If you only take one thing from these ramblings, let it be this: don’t lose the plot. You know in your heart of hearts what you want. Be flexible on the exact way it looks – when one door slams in your face, it’s not because you suck, your dream is lame, you’re not good enough. It’s because you’re earning your patina – examine the pain, learn the lesson, and then use it to propel you forward into the next chapter.
And if people try to tell you that your sparkle has dulled… you stand firmly in front of them, look them in the eyes, and thank them for noticing how much you’ve grown.
Over-Thought Thinkings. 