You know, I think the status of 'Grown up' is, to an only child, officially attained and childhood finally over when your parents stop taking pictures on Christmas. The day passes just like any other, mom snores in her chair all day, dad works in the yard, and before you know it... it's over. I first had this alarming sensation of normality years ago when watching a Christmas episode of 'Good Eats' on the food network, I can still picture the tree, the old chair I was sitting askew in, and the intense feeling of... wanting to hold on.
And this isn't the first struggle I've had with the concept.
When I was little I would angst over every little change - new sofas (even though the old ones were literally made of twine-like material better suited for a scratching post,) new chairs at my grandparents (despite the old ones having been broken down with jolty swivels,) new chairs in the kitchen, a new Christmas tree - my mom bought an expensive pre-lit Christmas tree one year without asking me. Christmas was my thing, the one time a year when I could force tradition upon the household and despite trying to start tradition after tradition all that was left of my attempts was me putting the tree up alone while watching Home Alone. That was all. And when the new tree came... I was so distraught that the following year we traded with the family we gave the old tree to. Didn't help that I would talk to the bloody thing, or any inanimate object for that matter. Back then I couldn't hold on to moments so I held on to things - things held unspeakable memories and wouldn't change. I grew and they didn't. (...most of these 'things' have now been tossed out or sold, I'm a bit too fond of open spaces to be a hoarder thank you! Yet it did take years for that to happen.)
I also held onto stories.
I try to hold the moment and the harder I grasp the more it fleets - and as I cannot stop time from going on, I would... well... collect things with attached meaning. Run away to places that would stay the same.
And now that I've managed to reconcile with this, or at least be too busy to forget the worry, I realize that it is finally happening...
And now I'm not really growing or changing. I am, yet it's slower now. I'm 22 and stable. But it is life around me that is changing, growing, leaving. My mom has more wrinkles and gray hair. My Dad's beard is barely black. I've had my dog for a year, my old dogs have been gone for years now. My cats are getting old. My grandparents are both in their 80s. I don't know when it happened- because I was gone. There was no gradient because for the past four years I've been at school and when I've not away at school I'm at camp and now- now I'm simply gone. I graduate in Spring. I've somehow always been reconciled with the fact...
have been so ever since one day in third, perhaps fourth grade. Sun was going down. Brilliant feel and clarity - even to the memory. Green. Oh the green. And sitting in the creaky old swing set across from my babysitter's son Justin. He's four years younger than I and didn't understand what I was saying a bit. Yet I marveled out loud at how there will never, ever be a moment like that moment again. That even as I was speaking the time was changing and things were progressing - you can never step in the same river twice. You can only try to hold on to it - but should you?
...I had many nights of unrest when I was younger about growing up. Not me actually growing up, had so many daydreams about that, wanted to be a lawyer! And an actress. Too scared for that last one. Different story. Regardless, unrest about moments in time changing. I could never again travel back to being simple and in kindergarten, never go back to playing Star Wars in the backyard of a friend's house, never again use Matt's large fort for a pirate's ship, never play with a favorite pet again - moments, moments are not like old gloves you keep in your closet. You cannot pull one out and wear it again just to feel the touch of a certain time against your skin.
I can change all I like - I just want those moments, those times, a selection of the past waiting to be slipped into... people to see again.
then again, it's not for me to be reconciled with the fate of others.
My grandmother often speaks of her death as if it could come at any time. And really, it could, she's fine but at that age (or any for that matter) you never know. Yet she is so... so... accepting of it. Yet I am not. I remember once speaking with my housemate about the subject - perhaps life is a giant five step grieving process and it takes our entire lives to stop grieving, well, our own deaths.
I hit acceptance too soon for me, now I'm going through the process for...
Well, the rest of humanity.
So I suppose, just as always, I am content with growing and growing older. For now, leastways. Wait until the decline hits.
Yet being content with times passing, never to be seen again?
...that is something I fear I will never grow accustomed to.
I also held onto stories.
I try to hold the moment and the harder I grasp the more it fleets - and as I cannot stop time from going on, I would... well... collect things with attached meaning. Run away to places that would stay the same.
And now that I've managed to reconcile with this, or at least be too busy to forget the worry, I realize that it is finally happening...
And now I'm not really growing or changing. I am, yet it's slower now. I'm 22 and stable. But it is life around me that is changing, growing, leaving. My mom has more wrinkles and gray hair. My Dad's beard is barely black. I've had my dog for a year, my old dogs have been gone for years now. My cats are getting old. My grandparents are both in their 80s. I don't know when it happened- because I was gone. There was no gradient because for the past four years I've been at school and when I've not away at school I'm at camp and now- now I'm simply gone. I graduate in Spring. I've somehow always been reconciled with the fact...
have been so ever since one day in third, perhaps fourth grade. Sun was going down. Brilliant feel and clarity - even to the memory. Green. Oh the green. And sitting in the creaky old swing set across from my babysitter's son Justin. He's four years younger than I and didn't understand what I was saying a bit. Yet I marveled out loud at how there will never, ever be a moment like that moment again. That even as I was speaking the time was changing and things were progressing - you can never step in the same river twice. You can only try to hold on to it - but should you?
...I had many nights of unrest when I was younger about growing up. Not me actually growing up, had so many daydreams about that, wanted to be a lawyer! And an actress. Too scared for that last one. Different story. Regardless, unrest about moments in time changing. I could never again travel back to being simple and in kindergarten, never go back to playing Star Wars in the backyard of a friend's house, never again use Matt's large fort for a pirate's ship, never play with a favorite pet again - moments, moments are not like old gloves you keep in your closet. You cannot pull one out and wear it again just to feel the touch of a certain time against your skin.
I can change all I like - I just want those moments, those times, a selection of the past waiting to be slipped into... people to see again.
then again, it's not for me to be reconciled with the fate of others.
My grandmother often speaks of her death as if it could come at any time. And really, it could, she's fine but at that age (or any for that matter) you never know. Yet she is so... so... accepting of it. Yet I am not. I remember once speaking with my housemate about the subject - perhaps life is a giant five step grieving process and it takes our entire lives to stop grieving, well, our own deaths.
I hit acceptance too soon for me, now I'm going through the process for...
Well, the rest of humanity.
So I suppose, just as always, I am content with growing and growing older. For now, leastways. Wait until the decline hits.
Yet being content with times passing, never to be seen again?
...that is something I fear I will never grow accustomed to.
