Dreams of My Childhood
When I was a child I used to dream that my life would be DIFFERENT.
I wasn't exactly sure what that would look like, but I'm pretty sure it included a best friend, a kitty cat, not wearing my red plaid Catholic school uniform, and, for at least one year, not having a teacher who hated me.
Oh, and a pool in my back yard.
It might have included something really awful happening to Melissa O., the spoiled, mean girl in my class who picked on me more than anyone else, and maybe, just maybe, it included a certain boy wanting to kiss me behind the bushes of the basketball court.
Some memories of this time are as hazy as a foggy morning, and others as clear and sharp as ice.
This is the luxury and burden of childhood. Infinite possibilities, yet no real directions - that is assuming we even have a vague idea of the path we want to take.
As adults, we understand that anything we want to do in life will include a trajectory, and that there are no guarantees we will wind up with what we started out to gain. It is both frightening and empowering.
As children we want to snap our fingers and KNOW that tomorrow, everything will be perfect. We will have everything we want, and everyone will love us because we do.
As adults, we know that life is the journey, and that most of the kids who had everything they wanted (aforementioned Melissa O. comes to mind) weren't generally the nicest kids on the block. Maybe everyone wanted to play with them because they had the coolest toys, but the price you paid was always having to watch your back.
Today my dreams consist of some similar things I wished for in my childhood. I do want my life to be different, but I know that the most likely way for that to happen will be through hard work and dedication to my goals.
I no longer need a best friend. I've had many close friends through the years, and I understand that sometimes friendships ebb and flow, or crash and burn. As painful as these things can be, they are also necessary. I have been a horrible person in my life, we all have - truly the best friends in life are the ones who've seen you at your lowest and offered you a hand to help you up. (I'm definitely blessed with a few of these, and I wouldn't trade them for all the diamonds in Africa.)
I met the boy of my dreams and he kissed me after we watched Casablanca together in a real theater (if you know me, you know how perfect this is!) - and married me two years later. He's never seen that basketball court, but I suppose we'll make our way back there someday. (We have three rescued cats, and two amazing kids.)
I'm not so jazzed about the idea of a pool in my back yard, but I'd love for my wonderful neighbors to get one. And as for that uniform, I haven't seen it in over 25 years, and I thought I'd never want to again, but I saw a picture of a class wearing them on facebook, and I felt oddly nostalgic and affectionate.
Our lives are a tapestry, woven together with a million different threads in ways we don't even understand. The older I get, strangely, the better able I am to both let go of the things I need to, and to hold on more tightly to the things I love.
It's a gift, and I am grateful.
I wasn't exactly sure what that would look like, but I'm pretty sure it included a best friend, a kitty cat, not wearing my red plaid Catholic school uniform, and, for at least one year, not having a teacher who hated me.
Oh, and a pool in my back yard.
It might have included something really awful happening to Melissa O., the spoiled, mean girl in my class who picked on me more than anyone else, and maybe, just maybe, it included a certain boy wanting to kiss me behind the bushes of the basketball court.
Some memories of this time are as hazy as a foggy morning, and others as clear and sharp as ice.
This is the luxury and burden of childhood. Infinite possibilities, yet no real directions - that is assuming we even have a vague idea of the path we want to take.
As adults, we understand that anything we want to do in life will include a trajectory, and that there are no guarantees we will wind up with what we started out to gain. It is both frightening and empowering.
As children we want to snap our fingers and KNOW that tomorrow, everything will be perfect. We will have everything we want, and everyone will love us because we do.
As adults, we know that life is the journey, and that most of the kids who had everything they wanted (aforementioned Melissa O. comes to mind) weren't generally the nicest kids on the block. Maybe everyone wanted to play with them because they had the coolest toys, but the price you paid was always having to watch your back.
Today my dreams consist of some similar things I wished for in my childhood. I do want my life to be different, but I know that the most likely way for that to happen will be through hard work and dedication to my goals.
I no longer need a best friend. I've had many close friends through the years, and I understand that sometimes friendships ebb and flow, or crash and burn. As painful as these things can be, they are also necessary. I have been a horrible person in my life, we all have - truly the best friends in life are the ones who've seen you at your lowest and offered you a hand to help you up. (I'm definitely blessed with a few of these, and I wouldn't trade them for all the diamonds in Africa.)
I met the boy of my dreams and he kissed me after we watched Casablanca together in a real theater (if you know me, you know how perfect this is!) - and married me two years later. He's never seen that basketball court, but I suppose we'll make our way back there someday. (We have three rescued cats, and two amazing kids.)
I'm not so jazzed about the idea of a pool in my back yard, but I'd love for my wonderful neighbors to get one. And as for that uniform, I haven't seen it in over 25 years, and I thought I'd never want to again, but I saw a picture of a class wearing them on facebook, and I felt oddly nostalgic and affectionate.
Our lives are a tapestry, woven together with a million different threads in ways we don't even understand. The older I get, strangely, the better able I am to both let go of the things I need to, and to hold on more tightly to the things I love.
It's a gift, and I am grateful.
posted by bobbi at 10:41 PM
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