Easy does it

Today is my birthday. Yes, I am ... how do they say it again? +1, yes. I am +1. Lol. I am 22 years old. I am excited, to say the least, not about the age however. If I had my way, I'd not want to grow older.

I do not see the joy of being old, knowing that you are close to ending. I'm not scared however.

I'm 22, and fortunately for the both of us, I have no lessons to share with you. Frankly, I'm not even going to try and do a retrospection of the last decade. Beyond what words can describe, I'm really excited about today. It's got me giddier than the last 18 birthdays I've had the privilege of consciously remembering.

Yes, I think I was 4 when I was told my birth date. June 30th.

Praise, the date fascinates me. It is 11 days away from my parents' anniversary. I remember the day I learnt about how long it took a woman to give birth; they call it gestation period. I came to a rather ridiculous conclusion that I started forming on the wedding night.

What else could make more sense?

My mum said I spent 10 months in the womb. Whatever angel was in charge of my birth, thank you! I can't imagine being born in the month of May. It lacks the lustre that being June born brings.

Birthdays are a celebration of life, an addition to the paradox that we call Earth—beautiful and wretched, yin and yang. Yet, I spent a huge chunk of my teen years fearing death. In retrospect, all of my fears except acrophobia (fear of heights) originated from the insecurity I got from being young.

If I have ever told you the story of "what do you need 500K for at your age?", what I missed out was how terrified I was, not being able to find the right answer.

At 15, I was counting the days to 18. At 18, I wanted to be rid of "teen". All I wanted to do was grow up. I wanted to be taken seriously. I wanted to listen in and contribute to conversations. I hated the "do not talk when adults are talking" remark. I wanted to be an adult.

I fondly remember the story my dad told me. It was a walk to church and as usual, he was holding my hand as he walked. He looked back at me and asked "what's wrong?" I had yanked my hands off him.

My reply? "I can walk alone. I'm no longer a baby." I was 5.

Being an adult was all I wanted when I was young. I liked looking at oldies and make them see that I did what they do at a younger age. The feeling of pride mixed with the regret of "I wish I were you" that they have on their faces was bliss for me.

I wanted to learn everything.

Interestingly, design started that way. I couldn't form lasting friendships with my age mates. This went on for a very long while, but being adolescent had its own troubles.

Age 10, I was in a clique of three, naturally the most brilliant, yet the largest simp. By simp, I mean I was totally oblivious of the usual social cues that existed at the time.

One thing was interesting about the clique. I didn't fit in. Some conversations just didn't make sense to me at the time. I needed it to make sense, so I tried to fit in. This turned into a crazy spiral for the next 6 - 7 years. I thought I wanted to be better, but all I wanted was to fit in.

So depending on where I was, I'd try to tweak to fit in. It's amazing how I remained introverted to everyone.

I think design helped me. The most interesting part of my life, and frankly over 90% of my life started in 2015—the year I started design. You probably know the story and if you don't, you'll hear it someday again.

Epistemophilia—an obsessive love for knowledge, or its reverse—the fear of ignorance. I used to call myself an epistemophile. 2017, I stayed several nights awake trying to figure out why Victor Fatanmi was so good, and I wasn't as good. I'd pore over Chris' videos, read books that I would not fully understand until 3 years later.

I had limited time to learn a lot. So I honed reading fast. I read Accidental Billionaires—the Story of Facebook in 3.5 hours for context. At the time, I'd consume irrationally—all things and everything.

Tunji is not stopping, why should I stop? I fondly remember the logic I told myself then. If Tunji is moving at 40MPH, I have to move at double that speed.

But then, Wibe asked me an interesting question last night, few hours before Big 22.

"Any last words?", he said.

"Easy does it", I replied.

I do not work well under pressure. I recall myself typing it into my weaknesses one time. I have never worked well under pressure. Control? Yes. Pressure? No.

I find that the things that last—that I've done or learnt—took a relaxed me. Speed is beautiful, but technique and detail over all.

I guess it is why there's always a brief moment of confusion for me when people say I have achieved a lot at my age. I try to find it. I know quite a number, maybe ... but achieved? Definitely not.

It doesn't invalidate their perception, however.

I used to beat myself up for not hitting certain goals and doing certain things. You see, I am idealist.

When Bosun shared the GaryVee GIF that said "you don't have to make final decisions at 22 ... just make a few assumptions". It felt personal.

Remember how I wanted to be an adult? I learnt how to dump that shit. 21 was my happiest year, surprisingly. For the first time ever, I let myself act my age.

For 22, I'm learning how to spread my hands and see where the wind takes me. As much as I want to be intentional, I'm learning that I am only responsible for the efforts, not the results.

I barely get gifts for myself.

This year, I got quite a lot. Loki & Jordan are a pair of beautiful kittens who will come to be an interesting part of my letters. I changed my wardrobe; if you call increasing the number of t-shirts I have as a change. My Mac and iPhone are surprisingly gifts to myself too.

I also crowdfunded. I decided to share a list. If you want to get me a gift, and don't know what, just check the list. I shared with close friends, and I got Semplice and Masterclass. Two pairs of Adidas slides also came in few days before.

But one gift I'm crazily excited about is the 15 min documentary I am shooting starting July. It's the most expensive and it is my gift to me. I have tried to chicken out, but I can't. I'd be mad at myself if I did.

Malcolm Gladwell said, "the trick to finding ideas is to convince yourself that everyone and everything has a story to tell".

So, I spend everyday convincing myself. I'm looking to release in September, but I don't know. It's still hazy.

Right after this letter, I wrote out the brief (or concept note) for the documentary. You can read and drop any comments you may have, or what you look forward to see.

So, Praise, I guess easy does it.

See you soon.

Ciao.

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