I was a different girl once. I suppose we all are like the layers of an onion, and maybe we end up with the brittle skin as we age, a shell from the tender fruit of our youth. But I sometimes like to gently peel back the layers to remember the girl I was.
As a child, I was a voracious reader. I would forego the outside play during a snowstorm to huddle by a candle with a mystery, gnawing it like a bone. I was an on the fringe girl, watching the other girls on the playground as they all seemed to inherently understand the ways of the American pre-teen. I was hopelessly boy crazy, falling in love at the drop of a dime- first with a boy in kindergarten who called me Cinderella. Later, an all consuming crush on a neighbor boy who put his books down on a puddle for me to sit on the bus. Despite all of my eager puppy loves, I didn't begin to date until the end of ninth grade, a time when we are all at our most angst ridden, our most self-doubting. He looked at me like I had hung the moon and then dangled like an acrobat from it. It was a sweet first love, with "our songs" and flowers, and adventures in the rain. When it ended, as it inevitably would, hearts were stampeded and hope was dashed. From there, I became desperate for a fulfillment that is often hard to find on the cusp of adulthood. I made mistakes, I lost myself, I lost my self worth, I lost my belief in my own truths. I wrote every day. I colored in coloring books, when it all became too much to bear. College was a time for exploration, a time for relentless homesickness. I had suitors from back home who pledged their love, who made me promises, and I believed them enough to forget to be alive in the moment three thousand miles away.
And now, I am a married mother of five, having navigated the early years of marriage, with its never-ending roller coasters of elation, adoration, and pure skepticism at the notion of forever. It took me many years, but I no longer find myself being defined by the romantic relationship in my life. I am pleased to have that relationship, as I am with the ones with my friends, with my children, with my parents and my sister. But it is the realization, in this midpoint of it all, that the relationship with myself is the one most important. I have found that I enjoy my own company, and in that way, I resemble the young girl I once was. The one able to be an on the fringe girl, the voracious reader. But for the first time in my life, I am no longer waiting for the next great thing.
As a child, I was a voracious reader. I would forego the outside play during a snowstorm to huddle by a candle with a mystery, gnawing it like a bone. I was an on the fringe girl, watching the other girls on the playground as they all seemed to inherently understand the ways of the American pre-teen. I was hopelessly boy crazy, falling in love at the drop of a dime- first with a boy in kindergarten who called me Cinderella. Later, an all consuming crush on a neighbor boy who put his books down on a puddle for me to sit on the bus. Despite all of my eager puppy loves, I didn't begin to date until the end of ninth grade, a time when we are all at our most angst ridden, our most self-doubting. He looked at me like I had hung the moon and then dangled like an acrobat from it. It was a sweet first love, with "our songs" and flowers, and adventures in the rain. When it ended, as it inevitably would, hearts were stampeded and hope was dashed. From there, I became desperate for a fulfillment that is often hard to find on the cusp of adulthood. I made mistakes, I lost myself, I lost my self worth, I lost my belief in my own truths. I wrote every day. I colored in coloring books, when it all became too much to bear. College was a time for exploration, a time for relentless homesickness. I had suitors from back home who pledged their love, who made me promises, and I believed them enough to forget to be alive in the moment three thousand miles away.
And now, I am a married mother of five, having navigated the early years of marriage, with its never-ending roller coasters of elation, adoration, and pure skepticism at the notion of forever. It took me many years, but I no longer find myself being defined by the romantic relationship in my life. I am pleased to have that relationship, as I am with the ones with my friends, with my children, with my parents and my sister. But it is the realization, in this midpoint of it all, that the relationship with myself is the one most important. I have found that I enjoy my own company, and in that way, I resemble the young girl I once was. The one able to be an on the fringe girl, the voracious reader. But for the first time in my life, I am no longer waiting for the next great thing.
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