When I was a kid, I could do anything. *Anything*.
Jump off the high dive and land feet-first in the 12 foot water? Yep, did it, got the tingling feet to prove it.
Flip myself over in a swing? Yep, did it, ate gravel and scraped up my chin.
Push myself backwards off the see-saw when it was at its highest? Yep, did that, too, and spent four weeks in the height of summer in a cast.
Spin myself silly on the high bar? Yeah, all the time, even kept on doing it after I fell off and landed on my head.
Swim in 150+ foot deep water about 500 yards away from a dam, where the water's at its deepest and god knows what's under you? Did that, too.
I've fallen off horses, skied black diamond runs (before there was the double black), had bumps, bruises, scrapes, bug bites, and just about everything else you can imagine. If I felt that twinge of fear in my stomach, if there were butterflies, I ignored them and plowed on anyway.
In other words, I was a typical kid, and there was only one thing in the world I was afraid of...my stepdad. But that's a subject for a different writing.
So when was it, then, that I stopped approaching my life with that 'fear nothing' attitude? Somewhere along the line, instead of being a place of infinite wonder and possibility, the world got big, and it got *scary*. There are all kinds of limits now, all kinds of barriers, and whenever I feel that twinge, instead of plowing on without question, I hesitate, and question.
"Wait, what am I doing?"
"Why am I doing this?"
"Am I going to fuck something up?"
"Is this going to hurt?"
"Am I going to regret this?"
"Will I look stupid?"
I never cared about those things before, or if I did, I didn't let it stop me. Now, they all do, particularly the 'will I look stupid' question.
Take yesterday, for example. While it was great to get out and *do* something for a change, and while I had a lot of fun and can't wait to do it again, I was petrified the entire time. I was scared that I'd fall and hurt myself, but most of all, I was scared of looking stupid. Brett was there with me, and a long time ago, I started caring what other people thought of me. His opinion, naturally, means more than just about anyone else.
I didn't give it much thought until today, when I was talking to some friends about yesterday's whole experience, and that's the question that came up: when did the fear start to mean more than the experience? When did I start to let that fear have a larger impact on the things I chose to do?
Some would say that this is simply part of the 'growing up process,' but I call bullshit on that. Where does it say that grown-ups have to be afraid? Where does it say that grown-ups have to lose their sense of wonder, have to change the way they approach the world? True, approaching things with such reckless, childlike abandon may not be the *smartest* thing to do...or is that just the ingrained 'you are so many years old, you must act like an adult' thing talking?
And, like so many other pieces of writing I've done recently, I don't think I have a good way to end this. I suppose I'll simply say that it's food for thought, and leave it at that.
Posted by Liz at May 19, 2003 01:18 PMI think it's symptomatic of the vicious social climate among K-through-12 children: we're all conditioned during those years, by both peers and authority figures, to think that the key to happiness is conformity. And that leads naturally to considerable self-doubt, which is not easy to just escape from, even in adulthood.