the veil that draped our youthful faces.
this is one of several older blogs that i have rediscovered and decided to post here to remember what i wanted to tell myself at that point:i remember the way it felt to pretend when i was a child, being COMPLETELY immersed in what i became. the switch from reality to make-believe was so natural then, even when it came to toys and models, or a stick that became a sceptre in some epic game. i made my environment and saw it as i wanted, not as life “really” was. if i was a dinosaur (which i was a lot) everything around me contributed to my own dinosauriness, from the way the tomato garden became a swamp, to how the bush at the end of the yard was a cave of reptillian solitude. i remember large scale war manouvers with action figures that spanned the entire basement, but to ME spanned worlds. blankets and pillows mutated into igloos; that was simply what they were at that moment. i could view a scene from any angle; i could bend time, take on multiple roles, change a storyline, whatever i needed to make myself content. <br>but somewhere along the way, these things faded. imagination became more work. my role in the story became less literal as i tried to occupy myself or entertain my little brothers. then, at some (seemingly) rather abrupt point, it was gone. toys were just toys, couches were just couches, snow was just snow. i was just me, nothing else. i lost the ACTIVE imagination. and what was that part of me replaced by? is there a chunk of “me-ness” that is missing? is there a small chasm that my dinosauricity once occupied that now lays in ruins? as i grow older, do i really lose parts of me, bit by bit, until nothing’s left? or do i exchange the morsels of my childhood for something else, hopefully something greater? i miss the true innocence of childhood, but perhaps that simplicity gave way for the ability to fall in love. these are, after all, the things we cherish most at their respective ages. when i was a child, nothing was more defining of who i was by those things i made myself, not hing was more important to me than my imagination. now, the thing i cherish most is LOVE. i hunger for it, it defines my life, it’s what i spend my time trying to attain. LOVE in all its forms.what i’m scared of is losing that ability to remember what was important to me then. i’ve taught in a handful of middle schools over the past month, and i’m astounded about how vaguely i sometimes remember those years. and one thing that worries me about becoming a teacher is FORGETTING WHAT IT WAS LIKE. i don’t want to forget what was important to me then, for if i do, i lose my ability to really affect my students. i’m not in this to make kids better painters or sculptors, i’m in it to make them look at their lives with intergrity and passion. but how can i do that if i forget what they’re going through? i’d be kidding myself.this reads like a mid-life crisis, and i’m only twenty-two. there’s a couple of significant dates coming up in the next two weeks for me, and i’m starting to reflect on my life in a way that i never have before. i’m terrified. i don’t know what to do next. i don’t want to grow up. it’s like that scene in the breakfast club, where the kids are talking about how when you grow up, your soul starts to die, bit by bit, until there’s nothing left. judd nelson gives a defiant, “who cares?”, and ali sheedy, tears in her eyes, eeks out, “I care.” that’s me. i don’t want to prepare for death by already dying inside. i want to be alive and content and restless and passionate and in love and amazed at EVERYTHING. i’m praying that i can keep the BALANCE, that i can fill in those holes as needed with things that are wholly good.