She accused me of lying about my age this afternoon as I was teaching her to use her computer. "There's no way you're 22" she told me, "22 year olds aren't this smart." I smiled and told her she was giving me far too much credit. Her sixty-plus years on this earth have surely given her more wisdom than she allows herself to believe. There are so many things she has experienced that have yet to even cross my mind.
Still, I carried her words with me throughout the day. People have always guessed that I was older than I am. All of my friends at work are older and tell me on a regular basis that they forget about our age difference. I forget too. Relationships really do have so little to do with age, as does intellect, as does, as I'm slowly learning, wisdom. I have always been wise beyond my years.
For the most part, I enjoy that. I like that people seek out my advice, that they believe my opinion is worth seeking. I like that I think deeply about things, that I take in every piece of my life and explore it, cherish it, let it become a lesson. I like that I have so many thoughts.
And yet, there is a part of me that often wishes I didn't have that ability, that I could stop thinking, that I could turn off the constant turning within my mind and just be. There is a part of me that wishes I didn't know things that I know. There is a part of me that wishes I could just be the average 22 year old.
Because so many of my friends are older, I've begun to compare my life to theirs, not as a 22 year old, but as a human being. So many of them have children and spouses and homes. So many of them are adults, not because of their age, but because they fit the criteria of being grown up. They worry about bills and mortgages and obligations. They work, not for the sake of working, but for survival.
That's what I've wanted for as long as I can remember. I wanted to struggle. I wanted to be independent. I wanted to be grown up. I've created my life around this idea. I've based all of my decisions around it. I've stepped away from my youth and crossed over a threshold that can never be reopened. I've closed the door to my childhood.
And the further away from it I get, the more I regret closing that door so soon. It's not that I'm unhappy living this life, it's more that I feel as though I've missed the opportunity to just be young, to be care free, to know that no matter what happens, I can still go home again.
I have no home. Not anymore. I have this apartment that I love, that I have filled with my own essence, that feels like home for the moment, but that I know is only temporary. I don't get financial help from my parents. I no longer seek their approval or fill them in on the details of my daily decisions. I no longer feel that they know what's best for me. This is my life and I am free to do with it as I please.
Which is terrifying. To be alone that way means that I have to look after myself, take care of myself, in ways I'd never had to worry about before. To have that sort of freedom means that I have no one to blame but myself if things go terribly wrong. To be on my own that way means that I am truly on my own.
I wanted that. I wanted not to feel like I had to depend on anyone for anything. I wanted to be self sufficient. I wanted my experiences to bring me wisdom. And they have. And I am grateful for what I have learned and that I know now that I am stronger than I've ever thought I could be.
But still there are those rare moments when I wish that I could fall into my mother's arms and feel completely safe again. I wish that I could depend on things to be taken care of with or without my help. I wish that I could spend my days writing in the park, my nights hanging out with my friends, and still have a roof over my head and food on the table. There are still those rare moments when I wish that I hadn't given up on my childhood so soon.
At 22 I have already been living in the "real world" for years. I have felt it's glorious highs and it's devastating lows. I have gained strength and knowledge from both. I have become wise beyond my years.
But still there are those rare moments when I think to myself "there's no way you're 22," and for an instant wish that I could take it all back.
4 comments:
frankie, i feel that we are in very similar situations, but for very different reasons. i also feel totally on my own. i don't really have a home to go home to, no financial support from family.. unlike you i never wanted this life, but i was thrown into it anyway and i share all your feelings about it. i hope it brings you some comfort that you are not alone in how you feel about your situation, and about wanting to feel carefree again.
also...thank you for the comment on my blog. it really means a lot :)
I'm 62 and sometimes I still feel that way, that if I could just be taken care of for a short time, I'd get my balance back. Some days I just want my mother. Other days I am so happy just to be on my own, taking care of myself that I forget I sometimes want to be a child again. There's no reason you can't feel free or want to be taken care of at any age...
this is a very interesting
perspective...isn't it funny
the direction that life can take you, how decisions shape your
life for years to come...
i think there will always be times when we wish we could crawl safely into the arms of someone else and let them care for us a while. i do that with my husband now. my mother is alive with dementia and can no longer offer support. my father never learned how to give it. there is no age when you are so independent that you don't recall the freedom of childhood and wish for a moment you could return. but there will never be a time when you would give up your true independenc to do it!
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