(October, 2008) 

Somewhere, deep down inside everyone is a little girl in her mother’s high heels that is longing to get out. It’s never been more apparent to me- the weight of what we carry with us, than as of late.

We tell our children to enjoy the moments of their lives like those feelings of high school behaviors, or grade school fears are dropped in the past when you ‘become a grown-up.’ Suddenly you have a fat cap on your head, and you believe you’re off, and in ways you are- emotionally you grow, and spiritually you seek, but those hats are a plateau. Welcome to the real world, it’s a secret no one wants to share, we’re all just as cynical, as hopeful, scared, and as tormented as you are. We just hide it better.

I walk into a building daily, where we all dress in suits to cover our inadequacies. We micromanage and giggle in elevators, instead of by lockers. We are still afraid to sit alone at the seemingly large lunch rooms, (only we pretend we don’t care, or we eat at our desks.) Some of us have decided long ago, that we’ll never be the beautiful, shining examples of youth we always wanted to be, so we’ve resigned ourselves to our intelligence- embracing the brutal truths that we took on from society. We flash pictures of our children, because we don’t have grades, or quarterback passes to make you love us. We used pieces of us with pieces of others and created the best things we could have, and that’s what we find success in now.

We live in the same culture- that tells you to be yourself, but to the standards of others. Wear a ‘unique’ shirt, but please tuck it in. We’re striving so desperately to be different that we’ve equated liberation of our standards for our nude forms, begging people to reach for it more, because it’s now completely in the view.

We are pushing ourselves to such a guilty existence. Even commercials describe food as ‘sinfully indulgent,’ as if just enjoying our lives is something to be ashamed of. Walking wounded- every, day, I see them, and you can tell. They were never the prettiest girls in high school, or they were the lanky boys who’d rather play with the calculators then chance another rejection with the female population. And you can tell immediately who still view themselves as a treasure, when in all reality- we’re commodities to whomever wants us. We learn to treasure ourselves, and that makes all the difference. Heaven can wait, I say. I want another bowl of ice cream.