Old post from elsewhere circa April 15, 2015
I have a memory of myself as a 7-year old dancing through the house, my mother's kanga trailing after me, attached to my head with a head band worn as a crown. I looked like a bride on steroids, a doll size East African Madonna in a bright multicoloured print kanga, a Swahili proverb along its length, and the beautifully clashing (or maybe not) orange and black headband. I was an African princess and when I grew up I was going to be amazing. I had it all figured out, right down to the house I'd retire in at 40 with lots of grass and a pool so my great grand children could stay over for the night.
I think I fear that little girl a bit. I feel like if she was looking over the report card of her life to-date she would not be pleased with twenty-many us. I'd have a lot of explaining to do. I also admire the blind faith she had in the idea that things would always work out right. On dark days I fear she's gone and dead, almost a figment of my imagination because surely that child could not become the woman I am today. On good days, I feel the shadow of her, dancing on the edges of my life and on better ones I see a reflection of her in my eyes and smile. I admire her confidence in her abilities, her belief in the beauty of life, the curiosity with which she approached the novel. She saw magic on the wings of dragonfly, heard it in the coos of the owl by her bedroom window, smelled it after a heavy rain and danced with it in the afterglow or an orange red sunset. She was absolutely sure that she was magic too. Anything was possible if she wanted it to be.
I miss that surety more than I miss the rest of my childhood and I'd like to think that a lot of adults are like me, looking for that magic again. Maybe it's the lost ones who get stuck at the bottom of bottles looking for it or maybe the lost ones are the ones who convince themselves that the magic never existed in the first place?
(Most of the time) I don't regret a single decision I've made. Yes, even the really dumb ones under the influence of intoxicants et al. I am who I am. I can be better or I can be worse but I can't change how I got to this specific moment. My child self really was amazing but she had no idea about the process of life. I don't think she was capable of understanding how you can be in a good place at one moment and the next find yourself in a pit of despair (To think we're slightly less dramatic now). Her life was a plateau of good times and if I'd remained her I'd probably be a grade A bitch right about now.
I'm not crying about growing old here. That's a whole other post for a whole other day. What I'm doing is mourning the simplicity of the adult life I orginally envisioned because as an adult I can now appreciate that it isn't like that for everyone. Black and white so quickly transforms to grey for many of us. And it can be bad, oh so very bad but it can also be delightfully good. I'd compare my twenties to walking in a fog covered swamp. You can't see for shit and the ground isn't that reliable either. Being in a moment like that makes you appreciate the people who if you start to fall, reach out to keep you standing. It's made me want to reach out for the people I see falling too. Definitely non-grade A bitch material. And I won't be able to do that if life had gone as 7-year old me planned for it too. Most of everything I took for granted I don't any more, not my beauty, not my intelligence, not my friends or family. The whole willow tree metaphor if you will about bending or being broken. I mourn that that process was necessary. I mourn the loss of my naivete. I have no illusions about the fact that more bending is in my future. That's actually my new foundation. I am going to be tested very hard and I'd better do my bestestestest to keep my eye on my prize.
So I'm mourning that dream so that I can finally dig its grave and put it to rest. Therefore no regrets. I've evolved and it's time to let go of 7-year old me's overly specified dreams and focus instead on the fact that all she wanted was to be happy. Her way to happy town's road is closed now. Here's to the bittersweetness of growing up, to the little girl who coulda, woulda and the woman who doing her best.
"When I was a girl my life was music that was always getting louder.
Everything moved me. A dog following a stranger. That made me feel so much.
A calendar that showed the wrong month. I could have cried over it. I did.
Where the smoke from the chimney ended.
How an overturned bottle rested at the edge of a table. "
— Jonathan Safran Foer
I have a memory of myself as a 7-year old dancing through the house, my mother's kanga trailing after me, attached to my head with a head band worn as a crown. I looked like a bride on steroids, a doll size East African Madonna in a bright multicoloured print kanga, a Swahili proverb along its length, and the beautifully clashing (or maybe not) orange and black headband. I was an African princess and when I grew up I was going to be amazing. I had it all figured out, right down to the house I'd retire in at 40 with lots of grass and a pool so my great grand children could stay over for the night.
I think I fear that little girl a bit. I feel like if she was looking over the report card of her life to-date she would not be pleased with twenty-many us. I'd have a lot of explaining to do. I also admire the blind faith she had in the idea that things would always work out right. On dark days I fear she's gone and dead, almost a figment of my imagination because surely that child could not become the woman I am today. On good days, I feel the shadow of her, dancing on the edges of my life and on better ones I see a reflection of her in my eyes and smile. I admire her confidence in her abilities, her belief in the beauty of life, the curiosity with which she approached the novel. She saw magic on the wings of dragonfly, heard it in the coos of the owl by her bedroom window, smelled it after a heavy rain and danced with it in the afterglow or an orange red sunset. She was absolutely sure that she was magic too. Anything was possible if she wanted it to be.
I miss that surety more than I miss the rest of my childhood and I'd like to think that a lot of adults are like me, looking for that magic again. Maybe it's the lost ones who get stuck at the bottom of bottles looking for it or maybe the lost ones are the ones who convince themselves that the magic never existed in the first place?
(Most of the time) I don't regret a single decision I've made. Yes, even the really dumb ones under the influence of intoxicants et al. I am who I am. I can be better or I can be worse but I can't change how I got to this specific moment. My child self really was amazing but she had no idea about the process of life. I don't think she was capable of understanding how you can be in a good place at one moment and the next find yourself in a pit of despair (To think we're slightly less dramatic now). Her life was a plateau of good times and if I'd remained her I'd probably be a grade A bitch right about now.
I'm not crying about growing old here. That's a whole other post for a whole other day. What I'm doing is mourning the simplicity of the adult life I orginally envisioned because as an adult I can now appreciate that it isn't like that for everyone. Black and white so quickly transforms to grey for many of us. And it can be bad, oh so very bad but it can also be delightfully good. I'd compare my twenties to walking in a fog covered swamp. You can't see for shit and the ground isn't that reliable either. Being in a moment like that makes you appreciate the people who if you start to fall, reach out to keep you standing. It's made me want to reach out for the people I see falling too. Definitely non-grade A bitch material. And I won't be able to do that if life had gone as 7-year old me planned for it too. Most of everything I took for granted I don't any more, not my beauty, not my intelligence, not my friends or family. The whole willow tree metaphor if you will about bending or being broken. I mourn that that process was necessary. I mourn the loss of my naivete. I have no illusions about the fact that more bending is in my future. That's actually my new foundation. I am going to be tested very hard and I'd better do my bestestestest to keep my eye on my prize.
So I'm mourning that dream so that I can finally dig its grave and put it to rest. Therefore no regrets. I've evolved and it's time to let go of 7-year old me's overly specified dreams and focus instead on the fact that all she wanted was to be happy. Her way to happy town's road is closed now. Here's to the bittersweetness of growing up, to the little girl who coulda, woulda and the woman who doing her best.
"When I was a girl my life was music that was always getting louder.
Everything moved me. A dog following a stranger. That made me feel so much.
A calendar that showed the wrong month. I could have cried over it. I did.
Where the smoke from the chimney ended.
How an overturned bottle rested at the edge of a table. "
— Jonathan Safran Foer
hi! thanks for commenting. I'm always open to new ideas. I can't wait to hear yours.