Middle School Blushes
Tuesday, December 7th, 2010
The phenomenon of growing isn’t so much a feeling but a strange realization of changes…
The mind I remember myself seeing the world in as a 5 year old is the same perspective as now; perhaps with plenty less anxiety or arresting shyness and fear, but I can’t exactly pinpoint the differences between 17 and 19, or 19 and 20 either. I was still me, just in different circumstances.
Physiological changes aside, what is it that makes us feel older? I mean, aside from the younger generation of ADHD tech-savvy Facebook/iPhone droids who don’t properly understand the beauty of tracking on a VHS player– do we find anything within ourselves that indicate any sort of wisdom, growth, a prophetic becoming of how we are to impact the world? Or is it simply… jadedness?
A hard-working plumber or an exhausted janitor once were youthful and carefree before the burden of independence came into play. Heck, Condoleezza Rice probably had her own wistful days of dreaming of ponies and being a medieval princess (unless she just flat out didn’t, and always wanted to be the Secretary of State since the womb). Is it the realization of how heavy the world is or how we are but one in billions that squeezes out this “growth”? Once I found a hilarious albeit racist quote online– how Asians make great babies, but they grow into joyless adults. I don’t want to be a joyless adult. Ever. In earnestness, I still feel like a child. There are just so many things I still don’t understand, and I yearn to learn…
I can’t help but refer to the idea of original sin. In The Golden Compass (yes, this is a young adult fiction book, but it has a surprising number of adult themes) the “Dust” that settles on a human around the age of puberty and restricts the transformation of their daemon (think Patronus-soul-counterpart) into multiple forms is seen as evil by the hierarchical Catholic-like power structure (represented by Mrs. Coulter). Innocence, they believed, was supposed to be preserved forever. Knowing, (in the biblical sense) was a powerful burden– sex comes with intricacies of knowledge, wisdom, and an entirely different perspective on life.
We unconsciously address this in everyday gossip and banter: the phrase “he/she just needs to get laid” usually refers to some known virgin (or suppressed/latently sexual person) who demonstrates prudishness– whether it be sexual or social. The feeling of tense self-restraint is usually what prompts this rather callous observation– and it is callous, because it assumes so much of a person’s most intimate feelings.
The mixed-up cloud of lust with a lack of self-confidence (insecure body image, or fear of sexual rejection) rumbling at the pit of a stomach might comprise of so many things– even the expectation of their continued virginity is a contradiction in itself. Should they decide to seduce or be seduced, the small voice of peer pressure taunts “I told you so”; resisting then becomes an act of independent rebellion. But even so, it reinforces that tension and polarizes the decision, bringing it into a more social struggle to display who you are and how your morals unfold. In so many ways, sex is rarely just sex. And this isn’t me advocating “thinking deeply” about the politics of sex and what they mean to you as a person– sometimes, one can think too much, and sex is usually the area where logic and emotions do not mix. Unless you’re buzzed, tipsy, stoned, or coked out. But everything might make sense in those conditions…
Take, for example, the couple that stays together for the sake of staying together. This isn’t to point anyone out– frankly, everyone knows people like this– but what *is* the driving force that keeps them locked together whether or not they’re fighting? It is the companionship; the reaffirming feeling that someone is there for you, that when others are busy you will always have someone to turn to. And make out with. Sounds great, actually; although as a spinster of a year or so, it sounds terrifying. Anyway, it makes sense; the trauma of getting to know someone (both in the biblical and contemporary social sense) risks moments of raw vulnerability (real or no). Second-guessing one-self is excruciating and takes a strong stomach; breaking the ice feels more like breaking into a heavily secured Swiss bank.
It is in these moments we feel as if our middle-school years come crashing down around our ears. We are back in sixth grade where the boy we like goes nowhere near your sad lunch table of misfits, where things that are happening to our bodies make our eyes bug out and our face flush deep uncontrollable embarrassment. I feel no older than I was when I memorized the states and capitols of America until someone whips out their iPhone, or asks me who Richard Simmons was. (C’mon. Richard Simmons!) It makes me wonder what happened in between my obsession with My Best Friend’s Wedding and the penultimate film of the Harry Potter series.
How do I prove 22 years? When will the creep of nostalgia stop overpowering me– or will it just become keener?
The Arcade Fire – Wake Up
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