Coming Up

Those who know me well are aware of my uncool stan tendencies, it could be a drummer or a writer- more commonly a singer. Of course at the moment it’s my comfort guy Paul McCartney- as anyone with access to my social media will know (and possibly be slightly embarrassed about on my behalf). Well, I like to write his name it’s true but there is a reason he has turned up again and I’m sure you can’t wait to find out why.

Paul has this song from 1980, Coming Up that is really very good, in fact Beatles lore has it that John Lennon heard it in a taxi in NY during the time they had fallen out, exclaimed ‘Fuck a pig, it’s Paul!’ and enjoyed it so much he decided to start writing music again.

And I have been thinking about the phrase coming out a lot, but for some reason it keeps autocorrecting in my head to coming up. There is this persistent idea that there is no privacy now, that the internet has made us all too transparent but I feel it’s the opposite. We are so scared of appearing a certain way, or being misinterpreted that it feels we have become too neatly tailored, even in our personal lives.  It could even be that it’s harder to be honest with the people we are closest to, as the risk is greater.

Coming up like a flower. Frankly, the soil feels wrong. Many of us have this persistent Pilgrim’s Progress mindset that we must forge through life alone, dealing with and overcoming the sin of being human. By which I mean the dichotomies and failures, the Prufrock-y dread, the effort of trying to heal from our familial dynamics, and now midlife just to add a bit of existential spice. Lush!

But I want to come up. At the moment (for the last 8 years) that means playing around with the notion that I may be autistic, although I have only really put that may in as an effort to cover my back. I can’t understand the scepticism around personal growth, but it’s there. I mean, I’m sceptical about it! Perhaps having an aversion to operating in the real world is simply, in my case at least, getting a rebrand? I blame Guy Debord. 

Or. Maybe from secondary school onwards I have constantly struggled to understand social dynamics, had no interest in conventional notions of success or hierarchy, always said exactly what I think, and now (somewhat hilariously) don’t quite fit into the diagnostic space- nor even at the local neurodiversity meet-up where everyone has ADHD. Do you believe what I’ve written? Do I believe what I’ve written? Are we all just brains floating around in jars? 

It feels as if so often now there has to be a disclaimer, or a justification. Self-exploration has been commodified (or glorified) to the point that many of us have abandoned it- or internalised it as a careful, lonely thing. And the most gorgeous, cosy hobby of all is to completely ignore it, the greatest trick the devil ever pulled. 

Which is all to say, there needs to be a concerted effort toward not forgetting ourselves, being honest and saying the hard thing, even if it comes off wonky. Self-expression is radical, love! Yes, I’ll be bricking myself putting this out in public, but what’s the alternative? Staying underground.

I want to be a flower. 

I truly, honestly (not in an internet interaction way) would like to know what you think. Have I made up that we’re all repressed etc? I am quite good at that. Do you feel that you can truly be yourself, even with those closest to you? And what does that look like for you? Message me if preferable.