I am a firm believer that everyone should find what they love and buy ten of it. Stick it on their walls. Inhale it, rub it into their skin, dream about it and wear it in their hair like a iridescent tiara that even Mark Francis would adore. (Providing that it doesn't hurt anyone, isn't illegal and definitely does not involve death yadda yadda yadda.)
Let's take a step back and talk about me for a second. I didn't always see enthusiasm as the ideal, oh no. I saw enthusiasm more as unwanted spillage from my pores that I was constantly trying to mop up with a mound of kitchen paper and lobby into the bin before anyone noticed.
As a child, I had always been very keen. I'd finish my Numeracy work as quickly as I could, side-eying my 'opponents' as I tackled subtracting fractions, sweaty fingers hovering over the calculator desperate not to fuck up. I needed to finish first! With all the answers correct! With my numbers cascading across the page so I could get a shiny sticker whilst I was at it!!! I loved Numeracy and I wanted to do it again and again and again.
In year six, I loved learning about astronomy so much I spent a weekend dragging my poor dad around Hobbycraft looking for materials to build a massive solar system. I paper-mached a sun and covered it in satsuma and dippy egg hued tissue paper, which was carefully rolled into tiny bits. I made each of the planets out of a bob of play dough and positioned them on sticks. I then made a worksheet for all of my classmates so they could learn about the planets and be tested on it. My logic was that everyone should learn about Jupiter because it's fun, right?! My classmates probably hated me.
Secondary school was next level. Any hint of passion meant you would have a gang of girls waiting for you outside the gates ready to put their cigarette out on your arm. Learning? Pah, next joke please mate! PE? Forget your kit and stop being so wet. Homework? R u ok, hun.
Giving a shit about anything was lame. Everyone knows that being cool, is essentially not giving a shit whilst wearing this season's sunglasses. It's half-ass showing up somewhere (if one has the time) not bothering about looking great (but still managing to) nor seeming interested in the conversations taking place. The surroundings could be Disneyland or they could be a school canteen. Who cares!
I tried to be cool once(!!) and adopt this level of apathy myself which, if you have ever met me, will know is ludicrous, because I am the least nonchalant person on the planet. I can't even say the word 'nonchalant' aloud, without typing it in Google to hear the pronunciation. I am loud, garish and messy. I am emotional and ambitious and sensitive. For me, to suddenly switch off all this feeling was of course unsuccessful. It's like telling your mate she can't mention her new boyfriend or his shiny green eyes. It just will fester inside of you until you shout 'WHEN I WAS TEN I WANTED TO BE A BOY' at some poor lady in the Tesco Metro trying to buy a packet of ham for her tea.
I'd go home each night from school (aged around 14-years-old) and look in the mirror and give myself a stern talking to. 'Aimee, you need to get a grip please!' 'You need to stop doing jazz hands and telling everyone you like writing poems!' 'Only speak when spoken to!' 'Whenever you're about to speak, wait at least ten seconds to sound really mysterious!' 'Don't do your homework... don't you dare!'
Enthusiasm and the art of being cool was like a big slab of honey on a white fluffy hunk of bread. (AKA not a thing. It's not. Nope. If you want to fight me about this, I am ready. Bring it on Twitter @aimeejakes you obscene sandwich murderer).
I was hellbent on being cool and began attempting to act like I wasn't bothered by anything. I had goals, which at the time were to be a Primary School Teacher, but it wasn't what I really wanted. It didn't get my heart spasming. I had a boyfriend which took a lot of my attention and I wasn't doing anything for me. I felt apathetic and a little lost since we are being so honest.
When I discovered journalism however, a fire had ignited in my belly and eagerness made my hands shake so much that the coffee I was inevitably holding, dribbled all over my shoes. Telling stories excited me. Breaking news first made my heart splutter with pride. Trying to convey a deep personal issue through the medium of words made me feel validated and the fact I could help implement change like many of the people I admire in the industry, made me feel motivated AF.
I began to embrace feelings of excitement again. I would babble whenever I would talk about work and I adopted a childlike optimistic outlook. I would notice other people would become happy and more energised when I was being so and I'd notice how one 'ugh I hate everything meh meh meh' in the room, could bring everyone else's energy down. Moods are contagious.
Someone (very wise) recently told me that we are all our true selves as children and that we spend our teens trying to be someone else, trying desperately to fit in and squish our real (great) selves underneath our bed, alongside our fears that we will never amount to much and a lunchbox we can't be arsed to clean.
I have many theories (lol) but one is that we are capable of being enthusiastic about something. Whether that is make-up, running 10ks, DJing or selling juice to everyone on Facebook (not my cup of tea, but who cares!). Whatever it is, OWN IT. Shout about it. Be it, breathe it, unashamedly plug it. Talk about it often and the world will adjust. Living for something bigger than yourself is one of the ways to live happier and more fulfilled. There is nothing cooler than seeing someone talk about something they love. And you being unashamedly open and passionate will motivate others to do the same. That is the coolest thing in the fucking planet.
Basically, (DON'T) curb your enthusiasm. And don't read a book titled 'How to be Parisian' because you are great how you are. Messy, silly and happy.
