Shauna is a Punk Rocker

Where the rebellion of youth becomes the wisdom of age…

Aging is funny. At 46, I’m caught somewhere between the fear of slipping into invisibility and the quiet relief of not giving a damn about things I used to stress over. There’s a freedom in it, though. The pressure to fit into some mold or act like I’ve got it all together fades a little more every year. Sure, my body doesn’t bounce back like it used to, and I sometimes forget why I walked into a room, but I don’t mind so much. There’s something about the wear and tear that feels earned—like every wrinkle and ache tells a story I don’t need to hide. It’s less about fighting age and more about learning to roll with it, finding peace in the parts of me that have survived, even when the world keeps telling me I should be afraid of getting older.

I took off to Mexico with some friends several times in my teens. I got married when I was 21. I got divorced a few years later. I formed a poly-amorous relationship at 25. I traveled the country as a software tech all by myself for several years in my 20’s as well. By 30 I left all that behind and moved to rural Oklahoma to work from home and shut out the world.

Before my exit from Metropolis I was having dinner at a company event and suffering through the veggies, when the person next to me whispered “Your the adult now… you don’t have to eat those brussell sprouts.” It surprisingly was the wakeup call I needed that there was no proverbial parent looking over my shoulder and telling me what to do. I could make my own choices with nobody to judge me or tell me I was doing it wrong, or how to do it right. I had been without a real support system since I was 9 but now I was no longer a child operating within a child’s limitations. I was the adult and I could do what I damned-well pleased.

For a while I chased the impulses. Went wherever I wanted. Slept with whomever interested me for whatever reason. Ate with abandon. Chased the promotions at work. I rode the high of “freedom”, regardless of consequences. I was young, and looking back now I can admit that I was objectively pretty, and I had all the privileges that came with that and used them to my full advantage.

I struggle to call it a rebellious phase, because I wasn’t really rebelling against anyone or anything… I was more untethered, and for a while that was a heady sensation. I went hard for a few years taking every trip and every opportunity that came my way. I learned through experiences what kinds of places I like to be in, and what kind of people I liked spending time with. I learned my favorite whiskeys and foods, and music, and entertainment. I found more joy in dive bar shows and grilled cheese sandwiches then I had ever experienced at arena concerts and high-end restaurants. I learned a LOT of self-sufficiency through choice rather than forced circumstance. I learned to speak my own mind and demand what I felt I deserved. I found my power during that time.

Time tempered that invincible spirit. Maybe because every intentional choice I made helped me curate a life I didn’t have to fight against or through. My home, habits, and relationships were all rooted in what made me feel balanced, but that lack of tether became the only thing that still bothered me. I learned that while I didn’t want to be restricted, it was important to me that someone somewhere cared what I did or where I was. Being a lone satellite out orbiting the world was fun, but also it’s nice to be cared about… worried about. It’s important to feel seen and heard by someone who has your best interests at heart. I didn’t have that growing up so I didn’t know what that would look like as an adult.

We’re a couple decades out from that exploratory beginning and I’m happily tethered to a great man I found through those dive bar shows. At my big age of 46 rebellion looks more like saying “no” whereas 20 years ago it was all about saying “yes”. I don’t get out nearly as much as I used to, and there’s really no demons left for me to fight, so I live my quiet little country life and build my quiet little tiny cabins and catch myself wondering if I could still summon up that audacious nature if I needed to or have I protected my peace so hard that I’ve now gone soft.

There are endless arguments on the internet about what defines “punk” and I believe it’s different for each person. While I listen to punk music and hang out in punk bars, and identify with the original Riotgrrrl movement, I’ve never truly labeled myself as “punk”. Looking back now I think I should… maybe more because of my current life than my past. Punk has always been an umbrella term for defiance and counter-culture and what could be more defiant than creating a minimalist debt-free life in the woods where barter is better than cash, staying with the same man for 23 years without feeling the pressure to get married, and saying “fuck off” to anyone and anything that threatens the hard-earned peaceful life I’ve curated for myself?

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Drinking: Cofffffffffeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Listening To: “Make a Wish” By the New York Rifles