We are who we used to be

A friend mentioned the other day that her young daughter is like me in that she loves to write.  She seems to like pencils and notepads like I always have.  She writes all the time.  I think we could be friends.  I am still drawn to the office supply aisle, always have been.  I love stores that have individual pen selections, lots of choices.  Anyway, her comment reminded I’d written about this on fb earlier this year.  I loved the comments people made.  My friend who does my hair started cutting her dolls’ hair when she was three.  A teacher friend used to gather her stuffed animals to teach.  A mom who adopted three little children remembered she asked for a black doll when she was little.  Just interesting to see if we’ve made the circle yet, if we’ve come back to who we are.  I’ve come to believe that the real you is basically the kid version of you. I know, that’s a stretch, a huge generalization. But hear me out.

A favorite picture is of 4 year-old Caren with a small pad of paper and large pencil crouched on the floor of my grandma’s house—writing.  A guy we had to dinner a couple months back had gone to college and worked in banking for years decided in his late 30s to go back to college (four years, more loans) to become the meteorologist he’d wanted to be and loves it! When he was a kid he did a detailed science fair report on weather, a subject that always enthralled him and excited him. And Todd still talks about the guys in vet school who were finally living their dream—a second career.

The older I get, the less energy and interest I have in figuring out who I want to be. Instead, I want to be who I am. Over the years I think we somehow become distracted, jaded, manipulated even. Maybe misled is a better word. Off-track. 

I like to think of the innocence with which we gravitated toward what came naturally, as far as talents, gifts, strengths, even hobbies and entertainment. I believe we are happiest when we do what feels right to us, not just morally, but innately, personally. My sister Cheri has always been in her element with a ball whether in a softball, volleyball, or football game—it’s just so who she is; she’s a natural athlete.  She’s also a born leader, organizer, in-charge kind of person.  I love her strengths.  My other sister is equally detail-oriented, a deep thinker, a writer (all three of us love to write), very feminine, has excellent sense of style and is such a great nurturer.  But how sad if we would’ve thought the others’ interests and strengths were somehow better than our own.

College is about late nights, late classes, even pranks and silliness at times. I was naïve enough that I didn’t buy into it. I was born without a funny bone for starters. I also ended up with a 7 a.m. Spanish class M-F and was eating breakfast in the cafeteria by 6:15. I’d be in the bathroom with all the girls at night who were getting ready to go out dancing; I’d be getting ready for bed. I’d traipse across a desolate campus many early Saturday mornings alone to go work-out. It felt natural. Maybe not normal, but comfortable. 

I don’t think I got invited to a single party in high school. What a relief in a very real sense. I’m not the party type. I even get uncomfortable at wedding receptions (including my own) where I know everyone because there is a very real risk of small-talk.  I suppose if I could curl up on a corner couch and have a good deep conversation with maybe two others I’d be content.

I remember a picture of me when I was two or three with a rag dusting a table. Another time in elementary school my mom’s friend called and asked me what I was doing, “Just cleaning up the place.”  So in my element! I cleaned houses all through high school, thus mostly avoiding babysitting. Even now I’ll sign up to clean a friend’s house rather than watch her kids any day.

The things I remember from my childhood when I wasn’t inhibited are eerily similar to what I like to do even now, and when I’ve looked back in my journals I’m actually shocked by how the same I am! Sundays I baked and messily experimented with new recipes, I’d read every chance I got (even in high school I’d hope to get to class early for a few more minutes with my Reader’s Digest), I’ve always liked word puzzles and have seldom missed a Dear Abby column. My room was plastered with inspirational quotes and pictures of nature. I never did figure out fashion, still kind of a mystery to me. I’ve always loved navy—had it in my wedding, still wearing it. Loved treats, walking, uplifting talks, and the same kinds of movies.  Had planners, resolutions, and journals. Wrote love notes and to pen pals.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m all about growing up, maturing, learning, whatever. But I’m thinking we go about it all wrong when we think we need to let go of who we are to do that. I think we’re our best selves when we enhance who we are. Kind of like how I view beauty. Most women look best when you can see them naturally, maybe with a little mascara or lip gloss—not a whole make over. We are our best when we are comfortably using our personalities and strengths to bless other lives. If we need clues about that, I think a visit down memory lane might help.