You can do whatever it is you want

Who says you can’t?

Nov 26, 2024

I want the first few lines you read in this article to be words of permission.

Here goes; “Hey, my friend. Look and listen. You have permission to explore and do whatever it is that your heart desires. You are not too old, too stupid, too late. And so?What if you can no longer use your hobbies professionally? Nobody said that was the only way things could be enjoyed. Go out. Try new things. Be foolish for a while. Do things just because you can. You have received permission. Go.”

Go, my friend.

When I was 15, I missed being 13. When I was 19, I thought the best age was 17. When I was 21, I missed being 19. Now, I sometimes think of 22. It’s a thing with me1. I’ve always missed being younger, being a teenager, having less responsibility. Despite being so young, I constantly feel old. I was concerned and almost in tears some days ago because I kept wondering why I felt so, why it seemed my best years had passed me by.

When I really think about it, I know this isn’t true. I am still as youthful and fresh as a budding daisy. My whole life is spread ahead of me, sparkling beautifully, full of promise. When I ponder on it, I know that what has changed is how simply I used to view life, how accommodating I was to my silly dreams, how fiercely I stoked the desires my heart burned for. They were childish but I believed with all my heart in the life I wanted to build.

*i would like to thank my mum, dad and everyone who supported me on the journey to receiving this medal :)*

When I was 12, I found out that Shanghai is a city on the map. I watched a few Chinese reality shows on our cable TV and loved them so much that I created a reminder on my Nokia phone. The reminder was to alert me on my 13th birthday (in Shanghai, LOL) that I predicted this future. I forgot all about that reminder until my 13th birthday when the reminder rang. I felt deflated because I was still in our rented flat in Abeokuta. But, as the queen of delusion that I was, I managed to shrug it off and believe that I would still visit Shanghai someday.

When I was 16, I started teaching myself to write songs. I got better and better, if I do say so myself. I wanted to be just like Adele. I wanted to write her kind of songs, shoot her type of videos, become an international superstar. I was 17. I believed I could record a mixtape and send it to Def Jam records and get a recording deal. Alessia Cara did it, so why couldn’t I? If worse came to worst, I would open a YouTube channel. All I had to do was to find my sound and then I would figure it out. I’m still in Nigeria, so you don’t need a wild guess to figure out that those cloud castles never got to become reality.

I can give myriad excuses, but they don’t matter in this article. I had other dreams, other interests, other pathways to the thrill of a life I wanted to create. I still do. The difference between then and now is how shameless I was about these wild dreams and interests, how I prioritised them. I truly thought that anything was possible. I had found firm footing walking the tightrope that I believe everyone needs to walk to have a good life; one that teeters on the borderline of delusion and innocence. I think that unsurprisingly, my foot slipped and I lost that balance. I began to walk in life with a limp.

Now, I know too much. I know there is a certain type of music easier to sell. I know that to get what you do noticed requires a level of intense effort, protracted commitment and a dash of luck. I know too much to think that I would be the lucky one. So I stopped trying. That’s always the easiest to do.

In recent months, I’ve been revisiting my old dreams. The silly ones with the warm embers. The ones whose blazing fires kept me up at night; their footsteps clearly imprinted in my imagination. I feel them so familiarly. I can trace their outlines and be transported to a time when I was a true believer. They are intimate, yet so strange, so distant.

How does it feel to visit them? It feels like sunshine snatched from the world of a child, like I slept and woke up to find an abyss separating me from the wonder that made me. It’s heart crumpling. Tragic.

So. I have decided to do what I want anyway.

I want to write songs? I’ll write them. I want to engage in public tomfoolery? Who says I can’t? I want to spend my last card on a trip? Best believe I’m doing it.

What if I’m too old? What if it’s too late? What if all these “what ifs” are true? What if they shouldn’t matter? What if I should simply do what I want for the joy of it? What if that’s the only way to truly live life/

I am learning that it is the coward’s route to hide from the bright light of self. It takes brash courage to see yourself and believe in you enough to let your aspirations and wonder at life spur your actions. I am leaning into the warm glow of faith in myself. My dreams have undergone a makeover and are no longer what they used to be. Some aspects of it are still very silly. But I’m just doing it. I’m young enough to make dumb decisions, anyway.

Maybe if we removed the pressure of needing pursuits to be more than hobbies or activities to be enjoyed, we would find more self-expression. I think I would, anyway.

I have learned to be gentler with my words, perhaps I can learn to be with my self.

I will do whatever it is that I want to do. I am young. I have permission.

You do, too.