A note for my kids, the lights of my future life, my pride and probably constant headache -- on my life at the moment. And then some.
Installment 3: March 2011.
-----
Dear you's,
Today I am feeling good about myself. No reason. This usually means either a) I'm ignorant, or b) I'm hormonal. If I burst into tears on my drive home, I'll let you know.
Well, so, I've over-committed myself once again. I do this mainly because I know one can't die from over-commitment, and anything short of that is fair game. I'll sleep when I'm old enough that people think it's natural. Translation: I've taken on a Spring show plus not one, but two specialty dances for the benefit in April. They pair choreographers up with local 'celebrities', kind of like Dancing with the Stars only without the double-sided tape. (And if you've never heard of that show, please call up your grandparents right now and tell them I've gone out back to work on my shrine and could they please send my old Hanson posters and Keane CDs? Just do it.) My partner is this mid-40's guy, and let me tell you, his sense of humor compensates for any lack of dancing skill. Which, while it's not as lacking as he thinks it is, is still a challenge in that I've had easier times getting a room full of screaming 1st-graders to sit down and shut up. Whether a bunch of hooey or not, I always think this propensity to over-commit will leave me one day. So far it hasn't, but I figure it's one of those things that regresses with time, like perky boobs. One can hope.
It's March, which means Grace turns 18. Kind of weird. Who she is now is a far cry from where she started, precociousness notwithstanding. She's always had that. Despite growing up with seven older brothers and sisters, she was independent from a very early age. That hasn't changed either. Twenty years from now, she'll have written a book about growing up the youngest in a family of overachievers, feeling like there was no path somebody else hadn't already blazed. That might explain why she played soccer. Her college years will probably turn into a one-woman uprising, and to that I say MORE POWER TO HER.
But for now, she's just 18. Which means she gets her license back, after the State took it away last year. New law that says if you have three infractions, your license is suspended. This whole experience has only furthered her cynical outlook on life, as every time we invite her anywhere she says OH SURE, I'LL DRIVE. So we explain that had the law been in effect when the rest of us were teens, Mom & Dad could've opened a chauffeur service and retired early. Probably to Nicaragua, Dad has always wanted to go there. And it's not our fault the government intervened, but guess what? SAT scoring has changed too, and despite what the numbers say, your 1900 does not beat my 1310.
All that to say, happy birthday. You little punk.
Moving on.
Robin and I got a new roommate. He's a boy. I have three brothers, living with boys isn't new to me, it's just been awhile since I had to live with one. Either this guy is the exception, or I've gotten a bit too set in my ways. Boys don't think it's weird to leave the trash can lid up or leave dishes sitting for days on end. They'll get to it eventually, just not now. They do things like overload the washer, failing to realize that just because it fits doesn't mean you should actually put all your clothes in at once. (Kind of like how just because the toilet bowl is that big... oh wait. Never mind.) They are all about belches and farts and awkward testosterone-induced moments. Then again, so are a few of my sisters. Meant to imply that girls have equally as awful habits. Take Robin, who leaves her hair in the sink and generally requires about 3 times the space and time as guys, doesn't matter what she's doing. Me, I like to leave things all over the house, like marking my territory. There's a water glass on my bedside table that's been there for over six months. I have probably three pair of shoes currently underneath the dining room table. And I will always turn most lights in the house on, just because. I blame Dad--all those years he spent telling me the turn the lights off really backfired.
This is the other thing about roommates: being friends is tough. I know few who have succeeded this side of somebody prematurely and/or covertly moving out because they "just can't live with that". They say you can't live with your best friends. I've had friendships-turned-roommates-turned-ex-roommates that took a few years to resume, though by the grace of God they did and we heaved a collective GEE, LET'S NEVER DO THAT AGAIN, YOU ARE ONE CRAZY TRAIN IN THE MORNINGS. And it took me several years to realize that the worst ingredient for any relationship, roommate or otherwise, is passive aggression. I do this a lot, but I'm learning not to. I am teaching myself to take people at face-value, and not to let myself suspect or wonder. If they can't say it to your face, it's not your problem. Know yourself and be honest, it will get you a lot further than operating out of fear.
Over the years, I've come to see how easy it is to mistake selfishness for independence. It's MY time, MY car, MY house, MY commitments, MY stuff. No really, it is. Not yours. Not theirs. Probably the worst is time -- I only have so much of it, and I sure as heck don't want to spend all of it with you, I LIVE with you for crying out loud. If I wanted to talk to you all the time, I'd marry you. But this reeks of entitlement and I'm not sure which is worse, thinking I got here all by myself or burning bridges because I can.
In other news...
The 20's are an interesting age range. Probably the best I've had so far. I like that I can say that. I do miss my teen years, mostly because it's the last time I saw the number (see: size) 6. But there's so much to love about not having to worry about taxes and grocery shopping and what people think of you. I think that's one of the real reasons why I love working with kids so much -- they don't give a crap. That's an admirable thing, if you take into account how much energy goes into not stepping on other people's toes.
Grown-up's worry too much about what we're doing with our lives, perhaps more about what we're missing, or could be doing and aren't. The more I ponder it, the more I realize the importance of the things I do. I have my job -- it's great. I have my family -- they're great. But the thing thing I cram and stretch and pull my schedule to accommodate for, is time with kids. Specifically, teaching and dancing and hanging out. I never regret it. I need breaks, but I think about how much better I am because of them, and I realize that what I do there, matters. And what more do we need? It's a good reminder, to remember that I've have been given so many blessings.
That said -- being an adult is hard. Because people are fragile. Because you can't go through life doing whatever you want and expect it to work. This goes back to the roommate thing. Sharing life with people, is hard. We are to love them and share their weight, but not take it from them. I struggle with leaving people to their own devices. It's something I am learning this very minute.
So, to you: I hope you never pass up the opportunity to learn something new; that you are willing to be honest with yourself no matter the cost; that you learn to discern Godly truth; that you stick to your guns, can separate conviction from preference, and learn to differentiate between your shortcomings and other peoples' insecurities. So much damage could be avoided if we only knew that others' uncertainty of themselves and lack of confidence or happiness in who they are, is not a reflection on us.
Which brings me to another important point - never let anyone belittle you. How you respond to other peoples' insecurities will tell a great deal about your character. Surround yourself with people who will remind you when you can't do it yourself; they will be warriors for your heart. You need that wisdom in your life, they will see the things you can't. They will also tell you when you're in the wrong, and keep you from taking credit for the things God has gifted you with. Like amazing hair, or the ability to wear brown with black. You may be bohemian now, but just remember you were once an awkward kid who wore blue velour pantsuits. Because despite what they say (that 'classic is ageless'), trust me, classic is nasty.
As I was saying.
Installment 3: March 2011.
-----
Dear you's,
Today I am feeling good about myself. No reason. This usually means either a) I'm ignorant, or b) I'm hormonal. If I burst into tears on my drive home, I'll let you know.
Well, so, I've over-committed myself once again. I do this mainly because I know one can't die from over-commitment, and anything short of that is fair game. I'll sleep when I'm old enough that people think it's natural. Translation: I've taken on a Spring show plus not one, but two specialty dances for the benefit in April. They pair choreographers up with local 'celebrities', kind of like Dancing with the Stars only without the double-sided tape. (And if you've never heard of that show, please call up your grandparents right now and tell them I've gone out back to work on my shrine and could they please send my old Hanson posters and Keane CDs? Just do it.) My partner is this mid-40's guy, and let me tell you, his sense of humor compensates for any lack of dancing skill. Which, while it's not as lacking as he thinks it is, is still a challenge in that I've had easier times getting a room full of screaming 1st-graders to sit down and shut up. Whether a bunch of hooey or not, I always think this propensity to over-commit will leave me one day. So far it hasn't, but I figure it's one of those things that regresses with time, like perky boobs. One can hope.
It's March, which means Grace turns 18. Kind of weird. Who she is now is a far cry from where she started, precociousness notwithstanding. She's always had that. Despite growing up with seven older brothers and sisters, she was independent from a very early age. That hasn't changed either. Twenty years from now, she'll have written a book about growing up the youngest in a family of overachievers, feeling like there was no path somebody else hadn't already blazed. That might explain why she played soccer. Her college years will probably turn into a one-woman uprising, and to that I say MORE POWER TO HER.
But for now, she's just 18. Which means she gets her license back, after the State took it away last year. New law that says if you have three infractions, your license is suspended. This whole experience has only furthered her cynical outlook on life, as every time we invite her anywhere she says OH SURE, I'LL DRIVE. So we explain that had the law been in effect when the rest of us were teens, Mom & Dad could've opened a chauffeur service and retired early. Probably to Nicaragua, Dad has always wanted to go there. And it's not our fault the government intervened, but guess what? SAT scoring has changed too, and despite what the numbers say, your 1900 does not beat my 1310.
All that to say, happy birthday. You little punk.
Moving on.
Robin and I got a new roommate. He's a boy. I have three brothers, living with boys isn't new to me, it's just been awhile since I had to live with one. Either this guy is the exception, or I've gotten a bit too set in my ways. Boys don't think it's weird to leave the trash can lid up or leave dishes sitting for days on end. They'll get to it eventually, just not now. They do things like overload the washer, failing to realize that just because it fits doesn't mean you should actually put all your clothes in at once. (Kind of like how just because the toilet bowl is that big... oh wait. Never mind.) They are all about belches and farts and awkward testosterone-induced moments. Then again, so are a few of my sisters. Meant to imply that girls have equally as awful habits. Take Robin, who leaves her hair in the sink and generally requires about 3 times the space and time as guys, doesn't matter what she's doing. Me, I like to leave things all over the house, like marking my territory. There's a water glass on my bedside table that's been there for over six months. I have probably three pair of shoes currently underneath the dining room table. And I will always turn most lights in the house on, just because. I blame Dad--all those years he spent telling me the turn the lights off really backfired.
This is the other thing about roommates: being friends is tough. I know few who have succeeded this side of somebody prematurely and/or covertly moving out because they "just can't live with that". They say you can't live with your best friends. I've had friendships-turned-roommates-turned-ex-roommates that took a few years to resume, though by the grace of God they did and we heaved a collective GEE, LET'S NEVER DO THAT AGAIN, YOU ARE ONE CRAZY TRAIN IN THE MORNINGS. And it took me several years to realize that the worst ingredient for any relationship, roommate or otherwise, is passive aggression. I do this a lot, but I'm learning not to. I am teaching myself to take people at face-value, and not to let myself suspect or wonder. If they can't say it to your face, it's not your problem. Know yourself and be honest, it will get you a lot further than operating out of fear.
Over the years, I've come to see how easy it is to mistake selfishness for independence. It's MY time, MY car, MY house, MY commitments, MY stuff. No really, it is. Not yours. Not theirs. Probably the worst is time -- I only have so much of it, and I sure as heck don't want to spend all of it with you, I LIVE with you for crying out loud. If I wanted to talk to you all the time, I'd marry you. But this reeks of entitlement and I'm not sure which is worse, thinking I got here all by myself or burning bridges because I can.
In other news...
The 20's are an interesting age range. Probably the best I've had so far. I like that I can say that. I do miss my teen years, mostly because it's the last time I saw the number (see: size) 6. But there's so much to love about not having to worry about taxes and grocery shopping and what people think of you. I think that's one of the real reasons why I love working with kids so much -- they don't give a crap. That's an admirable thing, if you take into account how much energy goes into not stepping on other people's toes.
Grown-up's worry too much about what we're doing with our lives, perhaps more about what we're missing, or could be doing and aren't. The more I ponder it, the more I realize the importance of the things I do. I have my job -- it's great. I have my family -- they're great. But the thing thing I cram and stretch and pull my schedule to accommodate for, is time with kids. Specifically, teaching and dancing and hanging out. I never regret it. I need breaks, but I think about how much better I am because of them, and I realize that what I do there, matters. And what more do we need? It's a good reminder, to remember that I've have been given so many blessings.
That said -- being an adult is hard. Because people are fragile. Because you can't go through life doing whatever you want and expect it to work. This goes back to the roommate thing. Sharing life with people, is hard. We are to love them and share their weight, but not take it from them. I struggle with leaving people to their own devices. It's something I am learning this very minute.
So, to you: I hope you never pass up the opportunity to learn something new; that you are willing to be honest with yourself no matter the cost; that you learn to discern Godly truth; that you stick to your guns, can separate conviction from preference, and learn to differentiate between your shortcomings and other peoples' insecurities. So much damage could be avoided if we only knew that others' uncertainty of themselves and lack of confidence or happiness in who they are, is not a reflection on us.
Which brings me to another important point - never let anyone belittle you. How you respond to other peoples' insecurities will tell a great deal about your character. Surround yourself with people who will remind you when you can't do it yourself; they will be warriors for your heart. You need that wisdom in your life, they will see the things you can't. They will also tell you when you're in the wrong, and keep you from taking credit for the things God has gifted you with. Like amazing hair, or the ability to wear brown with black. You may be bohemian now, but just remember you were once an awkward kid who wore blue velour pantsuits. Because despite what they say (that 'classic is ageless'), trust me, classic is nasty.
As I was saying.
Hurt is inevitable. This is one thing I will never shield you from, no matter how much I want to. I know God's grace will do the work I'm not equipped to. And when you are hurt, I hope you remember to step back and give rationale a chance to hit.
Even after you're playing King of the Roof and your brother pushes you off, causing you to land on the wheelbarrow. Rules are rules.
Love,
Me
Even after you're playing King of the Roof and your brother pushes you off, causing you to land on the wheelbarrow. Rules are rules.
Love,
Me
4 comments:
I love it. Keep this up. Even after your 25th year. Your children will appreciate it and in the meantime, I get blessed. You are darling.
Actually this is your 26th year. Still, keep it up.
Seriously considering the possibility / feasibility of having you adopt me.
This is good stuff.
(p.s. not to say my parents aren't great, cause they are)
I wrote and rewrote this comment. I sound like a loop, but you're just one in a billion, Annie. I love that you write and are willing to share it with the world. So grateful that you're in mine... xoxo
PS - I so love how you're investing into the lives of all these CYT kids. They will never forget you.<3
Post a Comment