Reckoning
reckoning: the act of calculating the amount of something.
I’m sure you have heard of a mid-life crisis, that moment in a 40-50-year-old’s life where the invisible timer seems to appear in the corner of their mind. Oftentimes, some dramatic change is thought about or acted upon that will magically reinvigorate them. Recently, this mindset has crept into younger and younger ages groups. The mid-mid life crisis, if you will.
The idea that one single year is what turns the sand dial on its head - beginning the final pouring of time - is absurd, at least to me. I am frequently *concerned* with the amount of time I have and what I’m doing with it. I didn’t know how to make sense of those moments of panic, or how to identify with a mid-life crisis. That is until the other day when this word just planted itself in my mind.
RECKONING.
When I looked up the definition of reckoning, it was an almost too-perfect word for what this feeling really is. A calculation. An amount. The idea of worth.
How else do we measure life, but in the calculations of worth? We’ve always told stories and recorded our histories. Every one of those stories has heroes and villains, with traits that have made them worthy of such a title. Our worth is now a market. Ideals sold to us by generations influenced by the rise of industry. (One of which was the combination of TVs and TV Dinners.)
Of course, our calculations have grown to include so many more areas of our lives now, as we shift from having personal stories to sharing our experiences with the world at large. Even if you are only friends with your “friends” on social media, you are constantly viewing yourself as a character to share things. (A great think-piece on this is the book Picnic Comma Lightning by Laurence Scott.)
This shift in thinking ever-so-slightly about the things we fill our lives with causes us to reckon with ourselves frequently. To be clear, this isn’t a post about comparison and its thieving ways. I am talking about our calculations and how sometimes, our math is wrong.
Imagine if adding things up was the only way the math worked. If we were in a world where suddenly, we could only add on to things - we’d be in trouble—a world of excess.
Except, that is largely what we are doing - adding up.
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I recently started working at my graduate school alma mater. It also happens to be the school I dreamed of attending at 18 years old. I love the job and the people so very much. However, working in an environment that strives to foster curiosity and growth, mainly in youth, means that you are constantly considering topics like education (duh), impact, and legacy.
So, I find myself frequently adding up the nine years from 18 up to now. I’m thinking of everything I learned and seeing moments where I wish I had pushed myself more. My initial calculations include only the accumulations - the gains. This self-image is a disservice to myself and my view of the world. For example, removing a toxic job at 25 allowed me to focus on a life outside of a career. The ability to subtract was monumental because it allowed me to see less of something I gave too much weight to in my calculation. There are small moments too, where the ability to pull away from things was just as important as the ability to add on, like those moments every few months where I’m able to fold some clothes and pack some items and drop them off as a donation. The ability to relieve my space of some “stuff” is one I cherish because it reminds me of where I place value. Life will be just as great without that shirt or that shelf.
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All of this talk about calculation and how we add up our worth means something different to everyone. We are all measuring and calculating, even when we don’t want to. Numbers in the digital world like follower count, likes, engagements are all part of participation. These measurements can be as old as time in the physical world, like weight or height. They can also be relatively new, like tracking your steps, measuring your screen time, or assessing your strengths.
Sometimes we are so busy building boxes for our self-image that we’ve nearly packed away what it means to exist. It’s easy to fill my “running” package when I am healthy. I stuff it so full of the items that I measure myself by. However, that identity is so strong that I mindlessly pack it now. I’m not even aware of all how I fill that box. I have hoarded my identity as if that act of doing should be equal to the state of being. It simply became a standard.
There is a problem with an over-stuffed box made in your image. When you’re injured and need to move that box - it looks like all the other boxes. All the different ways you have identified and packed away are all still waiting for you. In an instant, you can be trapped in a cycle of trying to recalculate, to find that other box that you can unpack, all to be a version of you that is not the sum of running (or something). All while also trying to enjoy rest, to live without a box at all.
An experience like an injury is an unwanted delivery. At first, it is a physical pain of the event and the immediate scramble to make space for it. Finally, you find peace in being able to set the box somewhere. That is until… the weeks and months that follow. Injuries force you to unpack a package you didn’t know needing unboxing - like the pain of the memory or the “cluttering” that the injury did to your routine.
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The unboxing process has been exhausting. Reckoning, to me, walks this fine line of nostalgia and yearning. However, your calculations can become a powerful tool if you can stay with your boxes for a few days at a time. Your ability to reflect on the past versions of yourself - to really feel the differences between 18 and 42 can allow you to rediscover some of the best parts of yourself. Days seem to go quickly, but we are boxing or moving some part of ourselves in every moment. We have to make a conscious effort to be better - intentional with how we all add up.