Growing Up

"Young Boys should never be sent to bed. They always wake up  a day older."

--J.M Barrie, Finding Neverland

I never asked to grow up. I suppose it's a tragedy in a way; all that innocence of childhood lost, the inexorable momentum towards changelessness. But I don't think that growing up is the bad thing it's made out to be in Peter Pan and other odes o childhood.

I guess there are two kinds of maturity: the undesirable kind that places adult knowledge into the minds of children, and the kind that gives children full status as human beings, able to interact with adults on a relevant, appropriate level.

Every day that passes is a treasure to mourn, but we can't let ourselves get caught up in the way time is escaping. We are the shapers of our own destiny, and we can always make the choice to change our lives for the better.

I suppose what's so wonderful about childhood is that sense of boundless potential--of constant becoming, of the molding of yourself. Children don't question their dreams or struggle with their identity unless we make them; they take it for granted that anything is possible, and there is no greater truth in this world or the next.

As we grow older, we shape ourselves in certain ways that mold into our surroundings. We can become stuck in our circumstances, or so attached to our definition of ourselves that we become resistant to change. Change is not good in and of itself, but change for the better, improvement, in other words, is one of the highest goals of our existence. I have no patience for the slogan "Be Yourself" when we follow it at the expense of improving ourselves. No one is perfect; imperfection is embedded in our nature. But perfection is achievable, and we should never forget that we are straining towards that goal.

I wake up and I'm happy. I can feel the day pulsing with potential all around me. It's in the afternoon when I hit my slump, and feel that no matter what, I have failed, and each harsh word or false step has only brought me closer to the baseness of my human nature. Sometimes I feel hopelessness pressing around me with no escape, and I wish that I could break from this skin, become the heron that sweeps above the water or the snake slithering in its muscular coils or the grass swaying in the wind. I can inhabit these things in my mind's eye, but I cannot become them. I cannot shed my skin and grow whole and new. I can only tear away at the thick ugliness tearing at my soul, and hope that, bit by bit, I can achieve my true form at last.

I'm not afraid of growing up; I'm excited about becoming someone, about being a better person, about shaking some confidence into this skinny heart of mine. Because that's what growing up means to me. The blank canvas, stretched as far as the eye can see, and it is mine to paint. I can leave or take the rest.