The Passing of Time
I was different when I was younger. At twelve I remember walking into the grocery with my dad. I smiled at people when their eyes met mine. Sometimes they would smile back, many times they wouldn't. There was no light in their eyes.
"Dad?"
"Yes dear."
"Why do you think grownups don't smile? It's not like it's so hard to smile. But not that many people do it. Why?"
"Hmm... well maybe they're just tired. Or maybe they're thinking about other things."
"But it just doesn't seem that hard to smile at people dad. It's just courtesy."
"Yes, I guess you're right Meghan."
Sometimes I don't smile anymore. Sometimes my mind is so full up of all the pain and sorrow and drama and turmoil of my self-involved existence that I am too busy to smile. I am turned inward so fully attending to my worry that I am certain in my eyes is the same vacancy I saw in those adults almost two decades ago.
When I was eight I sat at my desk in my childhood room. I got out a little pad of paper and a pen and wrote in big boxy letters at the top of the sheet HOW TO FIX THE WORLD IF IM PRESIDENT. Below that I wrote in neat handwriting:
no wars
no starving people
fix government money problem (I have no idea how I knew what that even meant but Mick and Carla have always been interested and vocal about politics so obviously I picked something up through them!)
I sat back in my chair and crossed my arms, proud that my list was so short, that it would take so little to make all right in the world.
I wake up around four in the morning most nights. My thoughts sneak out in the darkness and run around my mind making a mess of falling back asleep. I'm not thinking about war or hunger or the deficit. I am turning over and over in my mind the many complex and scary possibilities the future could hold.Kelly We are going through a pretty ugly custody battle, the details of which I would like to share but I shouldn't. That's another thing that has changed.
At twenty five I met a man at a bar. He was Canadian and spoke French and after a couple of cocktails I was convinced he was Nick Lachey's twin. I took him home that night. The next morning I woke up beside a stranger whispering a foreign language into his cell phone.
"I have no ride to Venice," he told me in thickly accented English. He was staying at a hostel in Venice Beach. I gave him the number for a taxi and ushered him out the door. And then I sat down at my computer in my yellow living room and I blogged about my first one night stand.
Back then I revealed the darkest of secrets to anyone with an Internet connection and an interest. Today my inner circle is notably smaller- my parents, a few old friends. I am trying to learn how to share with authenticity while still protecting the people closest to me.
A friend told me today that she is battling depression. Another called a few days back to share with me her broken heart. A patient revealed she is so unhappy in her overweight body that she thinks of suicide- that her husband hasn't touched her in over a year. The younger me didn't listen so closely or feel so deeply for the pains of others.
I was different when I was younger. I know I have lost some things in growing up, but I have gained some too. I am less optimistic, but I am more empathetic. I share less, but listen more. I no longer believe I can solve the world's problems, but I feel at peace that I can survive my own.
"Dad?"
"Yes dear."
"Why do you think grownups don't smile? It's not like it's so hard to smile. But not that many people do it. Why?"
"Hmm... well maybe they're just tired. Or maybe they're thinking about other things."
"But it just doesn't seem that hard to smile at people dad. It's just courtesy."
"Yes, I guess you're right Meghan."
Sometimes I don't smile anymore. Sometimes my mind is so full up of all the pain and sorrow and drama and turmoil of my self-involved existence that I am too busy to smile. I am turned inward so fully attending to my worry that I am certain in my eyes is the same vacancy I saw in those adults almost two decades ago.
When I was eight I sat at my desk in my childhood room. I got out a little pad of paper and a pen and wrote in big boxy letters at the top of the sheet HOW TO FIX THE WORLD IF IM PRESIDENT. Below that I wrote in neat handwriting:
no wars
no starving people
fix government money problem (I have no idea how I knew what that even meant but Mick and Carla have always been interested and vocal about politics so obviously I picked something up through them!)
I sat back in my chair and crossed my arms, proud that my list was so short, that it would take so little to make all right in the world.
I wake up around four in the morning most nights. My thoughts sneak out in the darkness and run around my mind making a mess of falling back asleep. I'm not thinking about war or hunger or the deficit. I am turning over and over in my mind the many complex and scary possibilities the future could hold.
At twenty five I met a man at a bar. He was Canadian and spoke French and after a couple of cocktails I was convinced he was Nick Lachey's twin. I took him home that night. The next morning I woke up beside a stranger whispering a foreign language into his cell phone.
"I have no ride to Venice," he told me in thickly accented English. He was staying at a hostel in Venice Beach. I gave him the number for a taxi and ushered him out the door. And then I sat down at my computer in my yellow living room and I blogged about my first one night stand.
Back then I revealed the darkest of secrets to anyone with an Internet connection and an interest. Today my inner circle is notably smaller- my parents, a few old friends. I am trying to learn how to share with authenticity while still protecting the people closest to me.
A friend told me today that she is battling depression. Another called a few days back to share with me her broken heart. A patient revealed she is so unhappy in her overweight body that she thinks of suicide- that her husband hasn't touched her in over a year. The younger me didn't listen so closely or feel so deeply for the pains of others.
I was different when I was younger. I know I have lost some things in growing up, but I have gained some too. I am less optimistic, but I am more empathetic. I share less, but listen more. I no longer believe I can solve the world's problems, but I feel at peace that I can survive my own.
Comments
Post a Comment