I Stand Before You

It has been obvious to myself and to others that I have been dwelling upon self perception. 

As I move forward with my life, family and career all going going full speed, I have had to take moments to examine the past. More specifically my youth. 

I look back and see so many boxes I was put in.  By myself or by others.  All natural parts of growing up and figuring out who I am. Some boxes had matching decor to others.  Some would cause Sesame Street to sing, "One of these things is not like the others." 

I have kept journals since I was ten years old and if need be I can always whip one out and read my immature handwriting and fel the pathos pouring out.  My daughter and I read some of my poetry I wrote in high school and we could not stop laughing.

Words of undying love written for a person I can no longer even recall.  Apparently I did not die from that one unrequited love.

I was asked by a fellow classmate what I am looking forward to about the reunion, he was wise enough to add what am I dreading.  I told him I am dreading feeling like I did in high school; like I never fit in.  He seemed shocked at my answer and said he always recalled me as being happy and fun to be around.

I also have been in touch with some people that I went to camp with every summer.  That magical summer haven where I did feel like I fit in.  One of my counselors that I spoke to recently said she basically remembers me as being a pain in the ass.  Sounds about right.  I was twelve when she knew me.  Another counselor remembers me as being sweet and cute.  But I was 14 by then, so maybe I was a little less obnoxious.

The one counselor who saw me as a pain in the ass kid, said she still sees me that way and needs to erase that memory of me.  While there are a number of memories I would love to erase, I am loathe to do so.  I would prefer to see the transformations and maturation's of people from my past than cling on to the box I had put them in.

I am going to see my Mom next week, and the issue of memory and remembering my past is now more keenly important to me than it ever was.  I am selfishly worried that I too will go in my Mother's footsteps and not be able to accurately recall my own history.

I am chasing windmills trying to get an accurate view of who I once was.  The more I chase, the more I see that it does not matter.  What does matter is who I am now, and where I am right this moment.

I am going home again.  A place that has not been my home for over two decades.  I have arranged to see old places I once haunted, old friends, old lovers.  Some I have kept up with and see me for who I am today because we have traveled the years together.  I will see people I have not traveled with, and they may look at me as the snotty kid, or the persistent young teenager, or  not notice me at all.

As long as I remain authentic to who I am now, whatever boxes I was once put in does not matter.

Boxes are typically made out of cardboard for a reason.  They can be recycled and made into something else.