Sadly, the gloriously warm weather we've been having makes me more introspective than usual. I love spring; I can't stand extremes of weather. But spring always reminds me that the year is coming to a close, that whatever hopes or goals I've had for the year have about five measly weeks to come true, and that this amazing weather is all too fleeting before I have to be subjected to the muggy 80-degree temperatures of summer. And spring reminds me of all the past springs I've had-afternoons spent lazing around doing nothing in the park in high school, and playing in the playground when I was little.
It's not just that I miss playing jump rope or yearn for a time when all I had to be scared of was going on the monkey bars that make me wish I were little again. It's just that when you're little, everything important seems so far away. It's so easy to dream and so easy to believe that you can be a ballerina or an astronaut. When you talk about college, it's this far away magical place where you'll end up when you're mature and sophisticated.
I don't think you realize when you're younger how much you don't change. I still see so much of the little girl I was when I was in elementary school and middle school in me now. It's little things like still having huge handwriting and still feeling uncomfortable around butterflies (their wings freak me out) and big things like feeling awkward around people I've met but barely know, and avoiding issues I don't want to confront.
I guess my point is that we're supposed to have grown up and have had all these experiences that make us change-and I have-but how come so much of what I don't like about myself doesn't change? And how am I supposed to deal with all of these dreams that are suddenly becoming reality if I still feel like that little girl? I still feel like I'm not supposed to worry about anything yet. I wish I could still dream without having to think about how I can make it happen. You don't think about how hard it is to get through pre-med classes and med school when you're little. I wish I could still avoid thinking about it. All these practicalities enter your mind when you're older, and they limit how much you can dream.
What I really miss is freedom from expectations. When you're little, it's so easy to have all these hopes about what and where you're going to be 10 years from now. What happens when life doesn't turn out the way we wanted it to when we were little? I know that the reasons for why things don't turn out the way you think they will are probably more important than what you used to believe when you were little, but there's always a nagging feeling of disappointment in the back of your mind. It would be nice if we all lived up to our childhood dreams. The world might be overpopulated with firemen, astronauts and actors, but maybe we'd all be a little happier.
I always idealize my childhood when things get stressful, when I think about all the tests and papers and final projects I have coming up and the fact that I'm still not completely sure what I'm doing this summer. Was it really as good as we remember, or is it only hindsight and nostalgia that make childhood that much sweeter?
A part of me is also still uneasy with the fact that I talk about my childhood as if it's over, that it's so easy to separate my present life from my childhood. I don't want to admit that we're not exactly children anymore. I feel like I'm showing tiny signs of becoming an adult-disliking snow because it only means I'll have to shovel and trudge through it, being bored by the cartoons on Cartoon Network-and I absolutely hate it.
There will be times, though, when I'll be rudely reminded of how frustrating it was being little, especially when I'm around little kids. People take me seriously when I walk into stores. I'm probably going to go to sleep around three tonight, and I'll probably waste most of that time gossiping with my roommates. I once thought it was flip-flop weather when it was 35 degrees outside, and even though I regretted it, no one was there to yell at me for it. I can be as loud and as obnoxious as I want in public places and feel only slightly guilty about it.
And then you realize-no matter how wonderful childhood was, there are some sweet, sweet benefits to growing up.