To Be a Child

With the new year having already approached, and with gentle reminders to treat myself kindly popping up throughout the day, my mind somehow and quite suddenly fell back on a couple memories that I never thought much about at the time, but that has become something to treasure today. I’m especially glad, because in it, I see hope and excitement for the future generations just as I see for myself. I now have something to look forward to, more than I did initially all from a remembrance I unconsciously sealed up.

Once upon a time, during my babysitting job in high school, I was watching over two siblings –a nine year old boy and a six year old girl. Not much was going on. They were each sitting around the table, myself included, nibbling on snacks from their pantry when the little lady randomly blurted out, “when I grow up, I want to be an artist!” Her brother gave her a confused look with these very expressive scrunched eyebrows and replied, “but yesterday you told dad that you wanted to be a truck driver, just like him!” She simply giggled, and shortly after was naming tons of careers that she wishes to have in the future – many that had absolutely nothing to do with each other. She ranged from singer, actress and model to construction work, being a lawyer, a teacher, and of course, knowing this young diva, a princess. From there, her brother jumped onto the same train, also yelling out his future wishes, which were just as all over the place as his sister’s.

At that moment, I couldn’t help but to look back on my life. Their passion and desire for what life could bring reminded me of the people who didn’t believe in me, and who didn’t allow me to dream were terribly, terribly wrong, and I know that this pressure hits many at a young age, which for me, was in kindergarten or possibly even preschool, if I can remember correctly. Teachers seemed to like the students who were soft spoken and weren’t of very many words, but who completed their work diligently, at least at my school, and one of the days of my young life, one of these teachers was asking the class what we wanted to be when we grew up, while we sat in a circle.

When it got to my turn, I explained happily that when I grew up, I wanted to be a writer – someone who published a novel, or maybe wrote the script to a movie. My teacher looked at me blankly, paused for a moment, laughed and then repeated her question. I again gave my same answer, and one more time, I did it again. I was soon to find out that she didn’t really like my answer, and suggested that becoming a doctor would suit me better, as if that was the definition of a little girl’s success. I agreed with her statement only because I felt like I had to, and that actually affected me all the way up into middle school, where it became clear that for me as an individual science was a big reason for my stress, and I didn’t have much interest in it.

It touched my heart that these children grew up in an environment where they had the freedom to dream in whatever field that it might be. They loved art and music, and were allowed to love it, just as much as they were to love math or science. No option was off of the table and everything was looked to with optimism. They knew at least then (and I hope it hasn’t changed) that whatever they chose to do, as long as they were proud of it, was worth it.

While I begin to see how important it is that we don’t put out the fire that develops in the hearts of a child when it comes to their dreams, and that it’s good to remind them that every single dream is beautiful to strive for as long as that’s what they want to do, I also remember that long ago, I forgot all about passion, and desire, and inspiration and all of that fun stuff. I dropped what used to fuel me so deep in my past, and I lost sight of my goal when at one point it was the only thing that ever mattered to me. I dislike having meeting after meeting, presentation after presentation, and report after report – all things that I never thought fit into being the true person that I am.

And again, I’m led to the children and what they would do for me in the rare times I was moderately honest to them about the hardships of school back then and the thousands of expectations that would weigh on me. A few moments later I would be bombarded with flowers from their garden that they picked for themselves, a dandelion that they asked me to wish on, or sometimes a tight, tight hug that they would jump in for and seem to never let go of. In each of those scenarios was a wordless saying that spoke loudly that they cared about me, were here for me, were passing their energy over, or that they had it in their mini hearts to think about me.

It’s gorgeous, honestly, the way that a child loves. They don’t turn it into complex mathematics that takes hours to solve and there are no red flags or doubts anywhere in the frame. They get straight to the point with their gestures, they’re simple, but they’re all super, super, super worthy and made to be cherished and clung to for dear life.

With all of these memories in mind as I look out toward 2022, I have to say that it’s my goal to be a child again, and be proud of it. I want to dream like I used to, as well as love, care, and express like I used to do too. After all, when did that beauty manage to part from me? Why have I lived day by day with everything feeling the same, and yet look back and notice that everything has changed?

It’s a shame, but a shame that can be fixed.