Numbers

How strange time is.

I recently music directed a show at a local elementary school. One of the sixth grade girls was self-conscious about her costume because a cute boy was in the audience. She pointed him out, and I thought, “oh dear, honey. This man is some little kid’s father. He's way to old for you to be worried about what he thinks of your costume.” 

But then I realized she wasn't looking at the 30-something gentleman, who I had thought was attractive, but the 12-year-old boy sitting next to him. The kid had hair that stuck out at funny angles. His mouth was overwhelmed with braces. And his skinny little limbs were swimming in his clothes. That boy looked so young He was young! But my little actress was self-conscious around this cute, older boy. 

I remember being a giggly sixth grade girl.

• The conversation I had with my mother later that day:
• Me: “I remember when twelve-year-old boys looked so old!”
• Mom: “I remember when forty-year-old boys looked old.”
• Then we both burst into laughter.

Do you remember when you thought that a 12-year-old was old? Now what do you think of when you think of a twelve-year-old?*

And then as soon as you turn twelve, all you want to be is 16.

As a 12-year-old I thought, "when I am sixteen, I will be beautiful. I will have grown out of my big nose by then. I will be tall and lean and datable. Nay! Not just datable, but desirable."

Then I turned sixteen. I was pretty much as awkward as I had been my whole life--maybe more so. I was taller--now taller than most of my classmates, and I still didn't like my nose.  maybe went on 2 dates (max).

But it was ok, because in 4 years, when I turned 20—TWENTY! It'd all be figured out. I’d be in college,  I’d have already accomplished so much by then, it’d be hard to turn down all of the perfect job offers that would be flung at me every day—because I’d already have the perfect job. (what it was, I didn’t know—but it would be perfect.)

I mean, 18 was OLD (now, 18 is so young--am I right?), but you were still allowed to not know what you wanted to do when you grew up.

BUT 20 was wicked old--in fact you were grown up, and if you didn't have your life figured out by then... you’re pretty much a slacker.

Now I’m 20. My sixteen-year-old self is calling me a slacker.

The most knowledgable I ever was was at 16--My parents will attest to that--when I didn't know what I didn't know.


The more I know, the more I know how little I know--you know?

The better I become at things, like piano or tennis, the more I realize how much further I need to go to become actually good.

The more I discover about the world--the more I travel, the more experiences I have-- the more I discover how much more there is to know about the world.

The more people expect maturity, the more I realize how very immature I am. The more "adult" I officially become, the less "adult" I feel. 

What makes us "mature"? education? life experience? knowledge?

age?

I hope not.

I have lived 20 years, 5 months, and 16 days. 7,476 days exactly.  I realize to some people that sounds very young. 


When I'm 30, THEN I'll have all the answers.

yup. I'm sure of it. 

*I thought i'd add a picture of a 12-year-old kid to illustrate my point, but then I felt like a creep stealing a picture from a "12-year-old boy" google search. But--funny little moment-- the first picture that came up was one of Justin Bieber. bah ha ha.