grieve not your youth

Remember your youth? Like on the edge of puberty youth? When your body was on the brink of something crazy, emotional, surreal, awkward, confusing, and yet thrilling?

When you spent your waking hours absorbing and gossiping about what others were doing, wearing, saying, singing?

When you tried on attitudes, slang, styles, emotions, because you could not (yet) find your own?

Remember when you began to notice that your body was different from others? And you had no idea that your obsession was nothing compared to what you would worry about later?

Close your eyes and think for a moment about those chapters of your youth.

Remember when you could eat junk food and gross amounts of candy without care? When you had no regard for a calorie or a carbohydrate? (sigh)

Remember when a wrinkle was something your mom ironed out of your shirt?

When you could wear any style of shoe and never pay for it later?

When you always wanted to be older then you were? When you thought sixteen and getting your license was the ultimate arriving point?

When rumors were truth and drama was normal? When standing in a circle with your friends gave you comfort and belonging? (Because, whether you admitted it or not, you believed that to be included was everything.)

Remember your youth?

Remember when the awareness of your beauty was forming? When your elders would swoon over your smooth skin, and cellulite-free legs and you just didn't get it because you wanted breasts or muscles, height and maturity?

Remember when your beautiful child-like heart was still beating faintly enough to pull heart strings?

When the landscape of your heart was not yet marked with the wounds and scars of hard fought love battles?

Or your idealism not yet tainted with the ugliness of realism?

Remember when your ignorance was actually something that was valuable? Something your parents fiercely protected because they saw the tidal wave of worldly influence crashing on your shores?

Remember?

Ah, you do? And you'd take no amount of money to go back there, well, except to maybe have that body? Yet, what is that cliche... "Youth is wasted on the young" ??  Out of one side of our mouth we are wincing at the embarrassing naivety of our youth and out of another we are lamenting our once luminous skin, our slender body, our "little" problems. We want the body of our youth with the wisdom of our age.  We want to go back and whisper to our adolescent self, to save us from needless worry and tears. Am I right?

But it's such a confusing push and pull. On a physical level we spend our youth wishing we were older  but then somewhere along the way we find ourselves trying to turn back the years, spending millions to get there. We always want what we do not have, what we think we have lost. It's a funny little thread of grief that weaves its way into our heart and settles there somewhere in our adult years. (It hit me in my mid thirties.) And then on an emotional level, once we have children of our own, we say that we do not want them to grow up.  Yet we really do rush them. We want our ten, twelve (fill in the age) year old to behave like adults. We expect her to navigate the terrain of her emotions with maturity and self control. We get frustrated over his idealism so we temper it with our cynicism, pragmatism, realism, whatever you wanna call it. We get frustrated with her wide spectrum of emotions and invalidate them with the logic that what she is feeling is not worth the energy expended.  (Come on! You're crying over not getting the first pancake?!?!) We want him to just GET IT (darn it!) that if he does not make right decisions now then his life is on a one track course to destruction. So we limit their power of choice and speak for them. We take responsibility for their actions and shame them for embarrassing us. And we expect them to handle their sibling relationships with the emotional maturity of Dr. Phil. It sounds so extreme but I am guilty of doing all of this at one time or another. (I know I just totally popped your image of me as a perfect mother!)

But ultimately, I think we all on some level, project our sense of loss over our own youthful failures and hurt onto our children in an attempt to course correct their lives so they can avoid the pain we know they will encounter. I mean, who willingly wants to watch her child bear a painful cross?  So some of us are forever grieving in some form over the previous chapters of our lives and trying to make up for it in the parenting of our children. Our motives are sincere and good, but our methods are flawed.

Or maybe this is just me?

Let's say it's just me. In my slow growing humility and wisdom I have begun to reconcile with my grief and recognize that crazy push and pull. Yesterday, when I looked into the depths of these youthful eyes (that reminded me of my daughter's) I saw the uncharted path of her soul and at once wished it all the joy and pain, triumphs and mistakes, that it would take to craft her into the woman she was intended to be. I wanted her to know happiness. I wanted her to fail a few times. I wanted her to experience the pain of finding herself among the sea of imitations and then know the confidence that comes from the discovering. I wanted her to know sorrow and elation. I wanted her to have fun. I wanted her to learn what her voice sounds like. I wanted her to experience youth with all the bows and whistles because she will never have it again. I am not talking about wanting to encourage her to run wildly without borders, or letting her dabble in harmful, unhealthy experiences. I am talking about not pushing her through her age, to be something that she presently is not. I am talking about wanting her to own the chapter that she dwells in.  I am talking about validating the experience with the knowledge of one who has been there. Empathy is a precious gift my friend.

Really I could give to her what I am just learning to give to myself: the grace to stand in my present chapter.

Because then I just simply have the privilege of being a wiser escort along her path. With patience, grace and most of all love, I could encourage her when the going gets tough, yet I could remind her that this is only one of many chapters in her life.  And moreover, that the future version of herself is waiting in a future chapter, but it has yet to be written and she need not rush to get there. All in due time.

Honestly, if I had the chance, this is the only thing I would tell my youthful self.

The rest I would leave for her to discover on her own.

p.s. These preteen girls were so fun. Beautiful! The middle girl's mom asked if I could just take some quick head shots for a drama audition and her friends wanted some lens time too. I loved loved loved being with them. I have such a passion to show them how beautiful they are inside and out, braces and all. :) They were easy to photograph and I had fun drawing them out. I'm seriously thinking this is my favorite niche. I mean, babies are cute, but they don't really care. There is just so much more you can communicate to the girl on the other side of the lens. She needs to know that she is beautiful AS IS. I love showing that to them.