About Deadlines and Finish Lines

Soon, I turn 31, not the most instagramed or photographed digits, but there they are, just the same. Which of course means, I hit the much dreaded 30, last year. 2020 though, was an anomaly. Like millions of people around the world, I celebrated my birthday in lockdown on Zoom amid the COVID-19 pandemic. It was the new normal and I was quite excited to be the reason my friends had to jump on yet another video call (don’t roll your eyes at me, you’re just as guilty). The pandemic, however, didn’t stop my sister and husband (both on different continents) from making my birthday one to remember. From a midnight quiz on, well, ME! (cue Taylor Swift) to hourly video messages from family and friends, cookies and flowers, the day culminated with a beautiful video.

The pandemic has taken its toll over the past year and a half. However, as an introvert, I have to admit that staying at home without the commute did wonders for me. I achieved a healthy lifestyle, a goal that had been eluding me, got my PCOS on track and created a guilt-free relationship with food. I patted myself on the back for having achieved something during this pandemic, made good use of my time as they say. But in February 2021, I was derailed. A year to the month of my transformative experience, my knee gave way.

It took 3 months, weeks of physiotherapy and a very expensive MRI for the doctors to tell me I have a meniscus tear. The prescription? Surgery. Second opinion? No surgery but 3 months of bed rest. So as fast as I had reached my goal, I felt like the hare who decided to nap while the turtle raced ahead. Honestly, that’s not true, I wish I’d been the hare, if I’d taken a break when the knee pain started, I’d probably be at the finish line now. But I decided to push through the pain, to work with it, because if you stop you lose all that progress. You’re never just standing still, you’re always falling behind, right?

The worst part is, I was never in competition with anyone but me. The version I perceive myself to be by a certain age and time, and as long as I stood still that version of me raced ahead, I’d never catch up. I saw my lifestyle disappearing – no more weights, no more running, no more yoga, and no more walking. Fast forward to Jun 2021 – as 31 looms on the horizon the gap to that elusive finish line grows. My mental health is declining faster than you can say ‘Breathe’, and I can hear the comments now:

‘You can’t have a child so late.’

‘You’ve put on so much weight.’

‘Oh, what happened? You’d gotten so fit!’

‘Do you really need one more serving?’

‘Maybe you should wear something that suits your figure.’

‘Oh, that’s the highest jean size we have.’

‘Being an older mother is impossible, you’ll never be able to keep up with your child.’

‘You won’t be able to run again.’

‘You won’t make that promotion if you take it easy.’

I want to scream.

I want to blame someone, but whom? Society! Yes, let’s lay this burden at their generalizing door. But then I introspect, over days and weeks – in therapy sessions and phone calls with my sister and friends. I slowly realise I can’t blame society. Yes, there are multiple societal issues that need to be fixed, there is no doubt about that. But this is not about those issues, it’s about the one that I can fix.

It’s about deadlines and finish lines, it’s about lines. People will talk and give you a laundry list of 30 after 30 things you need to check off. I have internalized this list to the point that I can no longer tell you where mine starts and theirs ends. Was getting fitter on my list? Yes. Is having a child on my list? Yes. Publishing a book? Yes. Is there a 31 deadline on my list? No. And yet, as I type this, I’m unsure if I mean it. I crave that deadline, do it before 31 or you’re not doing it at all. It’s programmed into our DNA.

We have an age by when we must walk, talk, poop, sleep, graduate, start work, marry, have children, buy a house, and eventually die. It’s built into the word – ‘Dead-lines’. They will be the death of us and yet we worship and celebrate them. Now don’t get me wrong, we need structure, but we need flexibility as well and most importantly forgiveness, the ability to say it’s okay to yourself when a deadline passes you by. But I guess flexilines doesn’t quite have the same tone of doom attached to it and of course what’s life without a doomsday thrown in?

So here’s what I suggest – let’s stop thinking of them as lines. By definition, this makes our path linear, but it’s not, is it? Let’s look at them as waves, with a crest and a trough. Everyone should have a goal, a dream, but sometimes you peak at a creak or rest in a trough instead of racing to a finish line. Let’s be kinder to ourselves and more forgiving of those slips and tumbles – if you ride your wave to your perfect sunset, I promise you, the finish will be just as sweet.