My singing teacher once said something that cut deep. Upon spying a younger artist walking into the studio, she told me we were passing the baton to the next generation. In that instant, I didn’t picture Mustafa blessing his young son on the Pride Rock in the ‘circle of life’. Instead, I found my fist closing over an imaginary stick and tucked it hard against my chest. I thought to myself: Nope. No way.
At 49, I’ve only just established my grip on the baton. To be fair, I’m not even that used to having a baton. What are you talking about?, I wanted to shout. I’ve waited so long for my turn, and now I have to hand it over? I haven’t even reached my full potential yet. I’m still in the middle of my story – raising a daughter, chasing dreams, discovering new things about myself every day, learning how to sing, play, dance and live. Why would I hand over the baton right when I’m reaching my prime?
I haven’t even reached my full potential yet. I’m still in the middle of my story
No, I’m not passing the baton on. I want young people to thrive but they don’t need all the batons. There are others out there. Go find them! That’s what I thought.
But rather than shouting my battle cry at the top of my lungs, for some reason, I smiled at my teacher and said, “Sure.”
This year, I will be having a milestone birthday. In July, I will have clung to this planet for a total of 50 orbits. My cells – those minuscule clumps of stardust that make up my body – regenerate every seven years. They replace themselves with slight changes each time. So why can’t I do the same?
After the singing baton incident, I wanted to do something different. The opposite of what women my age are supposed to do, the opposite of an altruistic goal.
This birthday, rather than going gently into that good night, I would like to do one wonderful thing for myself for every year I’ve been alive. Brave things. Odd things. Things I’ve always wanted to do but never had the guts to. Things that feel scary. Things that feel surprising. Things I’ve been putting off for years. Things that don’t seem like me at all. And I will document this as I go, bearing witness to my own thoughts.
This birthday, I would like to do one wonderful thing for myself for every year I’ve been alive
For instance, for years I’ve loved steampunk – a subgenre of science fiction that incorporates anachronistic technology with 19th-century aesthetics. I’ve wanted to experiment with the aesthetic both in fashion and art, but I’ve never had the nerve to do more than tinker. I am what my colleagues have referred to as a “creative passing as a normie”.
This year, I want to paint my nails with clockwork, and start making riding jackets, corsets and high boots a permanent part of my wardrobe. I want to finally come out of the “normie” shell.
On the other end of the spectrum, I have long feared my own creative potential, keeping myself in a small acceptable box of the well-trodden. This year, I want to write and possibly stage my own play. I know this has to be done because even thinking about it feels utterly terrifying.
This year, I want to write and stage my own play. I know this has to be done because even thinking about it feels utterly terrifying
Artists and musicians often speak of “comebacks” – the notion of a return to a golden era. But what appeals more to me is the idea of regenerating. Like the cells that make us, I want to keep changing and growing. Can we allow that even in our middle age, even as we grow elderly and infirm, even as we get closer to the inevitable day that we slip off this beautiful earth, we are still capable of dreams, creativity, astonishing bursts of light and incredible beauty? Can we allow that age is a poor determinant of future potential? Can we allow people to hold on to their batons and run with them until the day they die?
Can we allow that even in our middle age, even as we grow elderly and infirm, we are still capable of dreams, creativity, astonishing bursts of light and incredible beauty?
The Greek-Egyptian poet , writing in the early 1900s, drew inspiration from Homer’s Odyssey to answer precisely this question. In his , he challenged us to hope that our “road is a long one, full of adventure, full of discovery”. He understood that it’s the journey that matters, not the destination; that though we may “find her poor” upon finally reaching her shore, Ithaka won’t have fooled us. It’s the bounty from the quest that makes the destination rich.
So what will my Ithaka bring me?
This year, I shall have 50 opportunities to find out.
Vicki Kyriakakis is a Melbourne-based writer, improviser and communications specialist. Follow her adventures at or via Instagram .
