Growing Pains

                “You used to be younger! You used to be shorter!” my 8 year old cousin Jake cried out to me in accusation this past weekend, “You used to play all day with us!”

                I felt a pang of guilt as I remembered the times I had chosen to sit around and talk to grown-ups rather than run around with my younger cousins. “Have I turned into one of those lame adults now?”, I wondered to myself. It seems ever since Jake reminded me that I am not young anymore, there is another reminder after another reminder that keeps his words fresh in my mind – “YOU USED TO BE YOUNG!”

                I still feel young most of the time. I feel the youngest and the oldest when I work in schools. With the staff I feel like this punk kid who does not know what to do or where to do it, yet to the students (the younger ones at least) I’m just “old”, and it’s fine and good for the job that I do.

                The age I’m at now is a bit of a transition period. A part of me is still that carefree child who believes in things just “working out”; the other part is learning how to do all these grown up things that I relied on others to do for me so that things would just “work out”.  The deeper I find myself engrossed in this transition, the more I realize that the illusive “adult” who always had it all together - and knew how to apply for VISA’s and book a dentist appointment - is really not so different from who I am today. I have realized the more human aspect of “The Grown Up”. They still have irrational emotions, unfulfilled dreams, and dreaded acne break outs (I thought of all things,  I would have conquered the acne break outs).

                People who know me well often comment that I am an old soul. To be honest, I often feel as if I am forty years old inside. I have not completely decided if this is an enviable quality or not. I suppose as long as it does not take away from the spontaneity of youth , and as long as I am happy and content with my forty year old interior (which I am). My conclusion, then, is this: that I am content at the stage I am at. It comes with its stresses and pressures – but what age doesn’t? I am going to try harder to spend more quality time with the little people in my life too; because life is short, and sooner than later they will be the ones in this transition realizing that they are more like the adults in their life than not – but still wishing all the while to be just a kid.

The She-Man

      The She-man is a brand of male that is becoming ever more prevalent in the daily lives of the average female. Unfortunately, this term of “She-man” does not describe one of my beloved gay, male friends with whom I can discuss the world and all its intricacies while adding plastic gems to random items of clothing and accessories. In contrast, it is a term to describe a fully heterosexual man who prides himself on the expanse of his emotions, and the fact that he enjoys watching The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2 alone on rainy afternoons. I will admit to you that my experience with men in general is limited at best. However, my experience with the She-man is at a level where I could graduate from Community College with honours on the subject. I always thought a more sensitive type of man would be an intriguing and an almost optimal choice, but my more recent exposure has left me hoping that my days with the She-man are soon to be coming to a close. The experience that I have acquired in the presence of a she-man is the type that makes me cringe at the sight of a guy picking up a guitar and playing me a song inspired by, and written about, myself. It’s the type of experience where great, sweeping romantic gestures, such as adventures to secret locations and unexpected gifts, only prove to make me nervous and do nothing to secure my affections. The type of experience that makes one of my first questions for any potential romantic suitor something along the lines of, “Are you, or have you ever been, involved in activities having to do with acting, singing, composing, sculpting and/or (but not limited to) interpretive dancing?”.  Unfortunately, if the fellow answers yes to any or all parts of this question, my more recent social history has proven that there is a high chance that he is a stereotypical preteen girl underneath his adorably artsy exterior. So what if your newest love interest has a habit of PMS-ing more than you? Personally, if I wanted to be dating one of my girl friends, in this day and age, I would be. So what is to be done? Shall we banish all feeling men to the ends of the known earth for another generation to deal with? Shall we hold riots against any new romantic flick promoting the She-man? For myself, I plan on taking a simple, yet hopefully effective, She-man hiatus until I come up with a better plan of action towards this inconvenient evil. And when the one, seemingly innocent, ballad dedicated to yourself by your next She-man turns into a three-volume musical collection and each song strangely depicts everything from your small hiccupping laughter to the odd freckle under your left eye – unless you enjoy the idea of a personal and attentive bibliographer – I suggest the option of running, and not walking in the opposite direction.

My Sunny Feeling was Taken Away

     I broke a boy’s heart today. He handed it to me and I neatly snapped it in two and gave it back to him. It was not because of any real issue; if pressed, the only things truly wrong with him that I could think of were possibly that his hair was too nice, and his jeans a little tight. All his intentions were well meant, all his words thought out – and yet there was something that never quite fit between us, some cosmic reason that my gut kept answering his advances with a firm and resounding “NO,” and made me feel as queasy as the last time I had Chicken Nuggets at McDonald’s. I am not a stranger to the deactivation of a male’s heart. The disappointment is, in truth, all I know. It is not shocking that I once again had to have the, “It’s not you, it’s me” talk. What would be shocking is to one day actually reciprocate the feelings of a member of the opposite sex. I would love to meet someone where I finally feel like it makes sense - as if life is better with them there and like my world would never be the same again without them in it. At this point I cannot say in confidence that I believe that exists out there in the vast abyss for me; but a girl can dream, can’t she?

Ultimatums

                What is the final straw that will break your camel’s back? Do you know what your limits are? I know this sounds as if I am about to jump straight into a heated rant, but in reality this is just something that has been rolling around in my mind this week – ultimatums. What started this conversation (with myself – have I mentioned I talk to myself?) was trying to explain to my six year old brother why I could not just skip work to ride bikes with him, even if I wanted to. I told him that I would get fired, and then had to proceed to explain to him what that meant. The next day I woke up to the raised voices of my parents, and a few minutes later my brother was in my room;

      “What happened, buddy?”

      “Oh, well, I spilled chocolate milk on the computer. Mom  and Dad are mad at me,” there was a slight pause of consideration on his part, and then this revelation as his eyes widened,“I think I just got fired!”. 

       As I tried to control my laughter, I reassured him that you cannot get fired from family and that Mom and Dad had probably already forgiven him. However, his reaction to spilling chocolate milk was the thing that started this conversation in my mind. Everything and everyone has a different point of no return, and it is avoiding these tipping points that leads to a potentially more peaceful life. I try to be a person who has a high tolerance for many things, but I have been known to lose it a time or two. I actually had a mild case of reaching my point of no return  about a week ago at my waitressing job-  just an issue of a perpetually disgruntled co-worker being unnecessarily disrespectful to me. As the night progressed, I thought to myself,  “If he says one more thing to me, I am going to let him have it." Say something, he did, and give him what for, I did. Even though my co-worker did not even pretend to be apologetic that night for being a complete tool, ever since he has been much better behaved, and on top of that all the other grouch-inclined people there have decided I am someone worth being at least a little nice to. 

      So limits are generally good. Ultimatums have their purpose. It is nice to know that I will never be fired by Mom and Dad, but it can be appropriate to give those people who act as thorns in your side a little fire from time to time.  I could delve a little more deeply into this topic, but alas I have another night of work to get to, even though I would rather be riding bikes.

Free Thinker

            My life is a constant democracy of the people most important in my life, and their take on the daily dilemmas that I face. This only became apparent to me this week when something shocking (for me) happened between a boy interest and myself, and immediately after I was on Skype with two of my trusted friends unpacking the riveting details to their patient ears. Throughout the rest of this week I have gone from confidant to comrade to conspirator in order to determine what path I should indeed follow, and only now am realizing how ridiculous that whole process is for such a trivial event. What this extensive procedure reminds me is that at the root of it all, I am a people pleaser. I care greatly what will be thought of my decisions and if the general public will approve and vote me in for another term as “Valuable Human Being”. What I am trying to figure out now is when this democracy turns from being a healthy collection of insight and intellect, to me not taking control of my own life and instead living by autopilot as directed by the desire of the people.  Perhaps in this case there is an argument for dictatorship when it applies to being the sole ruler of your own life, and that is something I need to work on more. I try to be a person who follows their dreams and does what they believe is right no matter what the consequences. What bothers me in these situations is that I do not have much more to go on than what I am feeling in the root of who I am. But what if that deep “root” feeling is tragically misconstrued? Really, though, when it comes down to it that is all we have – that gut feeling of whether something is harmful or beneficial; meant to be, or not. Whatever decisions I make, I am the one who has to live with them and no one else. I guess now would be a good time to start taking command of it.

A Song in my Head

My Friend John

                I had an epiphany today. It occurred to me as I was once again working in a new school where I did not know a soul (subbing again), and I was headed into their lunchroom of co-workers, old pals, and hidden flames unsure of where to sit and what to say. The epiphany occurred the second I left that overwhelming room of people I didn’t know, and slipped into a nearby washroom. I instantly felt relieved (no pun intended). I wished I could stay there all lunch hour in my own quiet solitude, but the few short minutes I could stay would have to suffice.

                When that feeling of safety came back while in the washroom today, I thought about what would have been the first time that this place of function versus comfort became a sort of haven for me. I think it must have been in my first year of High School, and subsequently the time of my first real feelings of insecurity. I had been homeschooled for my entire elementary school career, and for one reason or another in Grade 9 my family decided to put all of us kids back into the public school system. Thus I was thrust into the great wilderness that is High School completely unawares, and more importantly, completely alone. The story ended happily. I made some incredible friends, and found my own scholarly niche amongst the masses. However, during that first year, many of my lunch hours were spent in the furthest stall in the most remote bathroom of the school. It was the perfect set up, because every other person who came to the washroom also left within five minutes, so none of those people knew that I had been sitting in there – fully clothed, I may add – for the past twenty minutes eating (yes, eating) my peanut butter and jelly sandwich and avoiding the intimidating groups of chummy people who knew where and who their place was with.

                Spending my lunch hours in that bathroom stall was definitely a low in my social career. After a few weeks, I discovered the library - the only other place in the school where you can be alone and no one second guesses why. This second discovery was probably a huge part of the reason that I did win the highest overall average of the year for my grade every year in High School.  It was enough for me in grade nine to be seen as “that really smart girl”, as long as I wasn’t “that really smart girl who has no friends”. 

                Perhaps what I am trying to say is that those insecurities from our past travel with us to our present. They make us who we are in a sense, but it is how we overcome these insecurities that defines our character. I do not think it is wrong to keep a security blanket around for the odd bout of insecurity (even if this security blanket happens to be a tiny four walled chamber of necessity), but sometimes, like today, we need to act the grown up that we now are and create a new name for ourselves; and maybe this time I will be classified under a stereotype that is more diverse than “that really smart girl”.