Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.
C. S. Lewis
I recently saw a quote about your inner 8-year-old being proud of you and your accomplishments. Your inner 8-year-old cheering you on. I think our inner child always cheers us on and wants the best for us, but is the inner 8-year-old proud of our accomplishments?
Disclaimer/warning: I often write in 1st person mixed with 2nd person. This is intentional. I am writing about us. I am writing about me [“I”] and my filtration of ideas. I am writing about you and how you might consider my thoughts laid on the buffet table for your enjoyment/thoughtful consumption. The relationship between author and reader is inexorably linked in the “we” and the “our.” We are fellow travelers on this Road of Life, you and I. Let us explore together.
In order to answer the question posed above, I had to mull over the concept and consult Little me. Easier said than done. Little me is so very proud of many aspects of Now me. She is also reserving comment in some areas. She is downright teetering the fence in other areas. Frankly, she might be a little miffed that I tried to pull her into adult considerations. She lives in the world of wild possibility where all the future is a wide open unanswered question.
What will we look like, you and I? What will we do? How will we make money? Will we have a career, go to college, get married, have children? Will we go on all the trips, eat all the foods, write all the books, swing from all the trees, bask on all the beaches? Will we keep our dreams alive, or will we fold like a broken camp chair under the weight of growing up?
Something in me at this moment wants to sob at all that is lost. When time passes, reality collides with want, and one by one the doors of possibility close, we walk, step by disillusnioned step, away from that child full of wonder within us. When we pry open the door between Now us and Then us, we get to revisit those hopes and dreams, but we force Then us to learn harsh realities about Now that wipe away some of the wide open question mark.
Little me remembers the day we were at the hardware store and our dad said the cashier looked like 20-year-old me. I remember staring so hard at the woman, studying every aspect of her supple face and its angles, and fixing in my memory the way her soft, wavy hair framed that friendly face. I remember wondering how he could possibly know what I would look like when I was older. At ten or eleven, I was all skinny arms and legs, big jutting teeth, crazy curly hair, and hidden inner pain. I was “bucky beaver” and “pencil nose” at school. How could he know I might turn into something pretty and confident?
Truth be told, “pretty” isn’t necessary.1 I am not even going to get into a larger discussion here about beauty, what it means, and the constant judgment of those who don’t come blessed with what society deems conventional beauty. That is a topic for other volumes.
Perspective is key. Flaws are blessings in themselves. Managing adversity helps mold Now us in ways that hopefully make us kinder, stronger, and more empathetic. What I was blessed with, in spades, is fierce, dogged, determination. What Little me is more proud of than anything is my fight to keep moving forward, keep accomplishing, and keep believing that more is possible. She is cheerleading in all her awkward and ungraceful exuberance, shouting at the top of her lungs, YOU’RE DOING IT!!!
She’s right. I am doing it. Even though there are some areas in which I am definitely not doing it (I am not yet fully making an income from writing, I don’t have a writer’s cottage on a low hill near a stream, and I am not yet flitting the globe writing travel adventure, among other things), there are so many ways I am doing it. I AM WRITING.
I am podcasting. I did the spelling bees and Academic Decathlon. I got an award for excellence in writing. I completed college degrees, one of them exactly what 12-year-old-me thought it would be, though she would be surprised to learn how much it didn’t work out the way she thought it would. I achieved summa cum laude. I can check off boxes of accomplishment in many areas.
However, Little me is reserving comment because all the check boxes of the preceding paragraph have nothing to do with her idea of real success. She is proud, yes, but she knows I am not yet finished. She knows it is the bigger work, the inner peace, the satisfaction of keeping dreams alive, and writing because one feels the soul’s need to write, that are the measures of real success. She understands that success by the standard of our busy adult world is at odds with success by the standard of 8-year-olds.
She is confused by some of the choices I’ve made. She is hopeful that I will continue to make choices that bring me closer to peace and success as a writer. She is ecstatic that I have closed the door on my long hiatus from writing. She never understood when I put away the pens. She was right. I was so wrong to give up so easily back then. Wrong to lose so many years of possibility.
Little me doesn’t want to know the mundane details of adult life that drag us down. She asks that I not bring dashed hopes into my relationship with her. She wants to remain where her playground cherry drop wins the day, she is endlessly reading Walter Farley and Jack London, and our mom is still alive. She is happy that I needed her this week, and that I continue to need her. She assures me she will always cheer me on and will always be proud when I reach a milestone of our dreams.
Journal prompt for today:
How does your inner 8-year-old feel about Now you?
What I offer the world is not my physical aesthetic. I am happy with me, my looks, and that my body works the way I ask it to work. I am happy that I am able to hike, write, eat yummy foods, talk, and complete all necessary daily tasks. What I do offer, dear reader, is my reminder for you to walk the road of unabashed wonder and possibility. Consult your inner Little you and see what you find out, but be careful not to disturb the bliss that Little you enjoys. If Little you doesn’t have any bliss, know that you have the authority and ability to rescue Little you and restore that bliss.
Marvellous! I shall have a conversation with my eight year old self. 😀