Rainbows and dinosaurs. Snowstorms and recess and ice cream parties. Saturday morning cartoons and pizza for lunch and staying up late and no homework. Hide and seek and playing chutes and ladders and swinging until the sunset and walking on the fall leaves just to hear those crunchy sounds.
Little things. All of these were little things you used to love, search for, crave, and absolutely wait for to happen. These were the things that you loved – all the things that brought you anywhere from one smile of satisfaction to tons of laughter for your tummy, sometimes even more.
Little You was so simple. Little You just wanted to be happy, and happiness was evoked in the simplicity of these things.
Fast forward twenty or so years. Here you are, an “adult” who has finally come of age to bypass any rule of a curfew and can spend money to buy ice cream whenever desired. You can google a picture of a rainbow in a split second and pizza for lunch is just the cheap option close to work. You dread staying up late because you are always so tired, and homework is just work that you take home – or the home you create at work because you never leave work. Chutes and ladders is now in the form of figuring out which staircases have faster moving people in the subway, and snowstorms mean your commute will take twice as long. The last time you saw a dinosaur was on a meme, recess means going to the gym to work on your body. Unswept leaves are in your way as you shuffle on in the streets, and the sunset? Well, what sunset? You didn’t see it today, yesterday, or the last year.
Suddenly, Big You can do all the things that Little You loved to do, at any moment. But instead, every moment of those once desired things is much more depressing than you would like for any of them to be.
Now, why is that? Why is it that as we grow older, the things we loved as kids suddenly become ordinary things that we take for granted?
Simply put, we discover other things. Somewhere along our life paths, whether it is through education, the media, or the people we are surrounded with, we become limited by the scope of “important” reality without any room for imagination. We discover the “importance” of money, status, practicality and adhering to the status quo. Suddenly, happiness is measured by these new terms, and we give no regard to the simple things that we grew up loving. All adults are guilty of this. ALL.
So then I ask, would Little You be proud of Big You? Big You knows that it is practically impossible to live without working, without thinking about the bills, without making important connections, without making the bosses happy. Big You knows that supporting yourself, let alone your family, is much more difficult than previously imagined, and Big You is doing everything you can to make it happen and still have a social life. Big You is also willing to sacrifice a lot for that social life.
Little You WANTS to be proud of Big You. Big You reasons that everything you do in life is so that you can survive. But Little You survived too – without thinking about all these things. What kept Little You going?
DREAMS. Little You had dreams of growing up and being the best YOU possible. Little You could not wait to be Big You to achieve all these childhood goals, and also to tiptoe onto the rascal side every once in a while. Little You wanted to help the world, to change it for the better, to give your friends clouds in the skies that looked like them so you could all be cloud friends. Little You wrote handwritten apology letters when things went wrong. Little You got mad when you weren’t picked by the teacher, but Little You was told that sharing was important and became the bigger person by sharing the toy with your classmate – or your little brother. Little You loved birthday balloons, and Little You loved getting older because each plus one meant one year closer to making your dreams real.
Think about your childhood dreams. Are you living them? Are you being the best Big You possible? If Little You met Big You today, would both of them rejoice in the success of your life as it continues?
Don’t dismiss those “silly thoughts” Little You may have had. Little You was innocent and may have believed that the raindrops were always racing down the car window, but these were the thoughts that Little You had that made you happy. Little You believed in You – both Little You and Big You.
Little Me wrote some life advice for future me in the autograph book I rediscovered tonight. She reminded me to “never give up, never” and that “u can do it!” (because using “u” instead of “you” was/is the coolest thing).
Little Me had dreams and knew what was best for future me. She still does today.
Last week we celebrated our 3-year anniversary and you were hoping that I would blog about it. I told you I would, but I am now reconsidering that promise. No, I don’t think I could just blog about you like I blog about other things in my life.
Where would I begin? Would I start with all your perfect imperfections? How you always wear the most compelling of outfits pieced together with a dimpled smile I can never resist, but take much longer than me to get ready, even for our anniversary? Or should I start with how you relish in my anxiety of being late as you take your sweet time because you are amused by hysterically anal me, something that hasn’t changed since day one of us being together?
Would I continue with our travels in the past year to 5 new cities where we explored new sights and shared new moments in the great big (and small) world? Maybe I will tell the fact that you planned every last detail of the trips and how much I appreciated and continue to appreciate your initiative to plan? Should I mention that you looked at each destination’s restaurant menus to make sure there were more options on the dessert menu because of my allergies even if that meant you didn’t get to try your desserts of choice? Could I say that you took snapshots of me when I wasn’t looking and thought I didn’t know even though I did and I thought it was the sweetest – maybe even as sweet as those desserts you didn’t try?
Should I actually reveal how relieved I felt once the long distance was over and how hard it was for me sometimes to know you were chasing your career and doing your thing, but so far away from me? Can I talk about how happy I was to tell you what trivial happenings occurred in New York while you were 6 hours ahead in time because I loved, and continue to love, to tell you every single thought that crossed my mind? Would it be silly if I personally attested to the idea that whatever I did during the day didn’t seem important until I told you? Could I even add to that and say that it really didn’t ever matter what we did but more so that we did it together and shared both wonderful wanderlust experiences and terrific typical Tuesdays watching TV?
Could I write about how smitten I always am when you come over and spend time with my family, and even though there’s a language barrier you still treat them with such respect it makes me feel so loved? Would it be too daring of me to say that you inspire me to be the best person I can ever be and that you always push me to achieve greater things? Should I share how grateful I am of the millions of talks regarding my career, family, and friends and how you always tell me that we are a team? Can I say that you have the best comebacks without you having the comeback “what can I say” that you haven’t said in the longest time because I always fill in your blanks now when you speak?
May I explain how endearing you are to the best of my abilities? How you look me deep in my eyes and reach into my soul like no one else does? How you support and comfort me every night before it is time to dream? How you joke with me just as much as you are serious about making our relationship work? How amazing it is when you surprise me because I like to believe I’m difficult to surprise? How loving you are to me no matter what? How even after 3 years you still make my heart skip beats and feel its heartstrings tugged at?
You see, I could never just blog about you. I could never describe you, or our relationship, perfectly. Instead, here’s a letter of everything I would have written about. By the way, there’s no ending.