Who Are You, Camille?

Life is so much different now. As I step onto the cold pavement in the late December weather, I suddenly rush back to a very different Camille; one who knew the world as one cul-de-sac wide where nothing could ever blur her innocent and hopeful vision. The neighborhood has changed a lot since I was five, but the feelings that came back with the memories seemed almost natural. I stared proudly at the crosswalk lines where I remember crossing them on a newly balanced two-wheels. I chuckled at the irony of the DEAD END sign as I remember falling countless times before I finally got the hang of the rickety old bike. Life is so much different now. 

I remember those times when I feared nothing. A time where I wanted to be nowhere else but sitting along a dirty old curb, chatting for hours. A time where my heart knew nothing of breakage, doubt, or fear-- as a matter of fact, vulnerability was all that I knew. If only I could go back to that time when I didn't know what fears the future would bring--life was so much simpler. Back when I had a romantic understanding of the world, I didn't have inhibitions or the emotional scars that, to tell you the truth, ache every now and again. But does this really go to say that ignorance is bliss? All I really know is that life is so much different now.

 

What about those times when I felt as though the world was my biggest fan? Everything had great potential just waiting to be seized. I could be Cinderella one day, and Carmen San Diego the next-- and the great thing was, that was normal. Dreams of the future were so far off that anything and everything was acceptable. There were no looming deadlines or intrusive questions that cut my potential short-- just dreams stemming from guileless intent. Life was so much different then.       

I remember when making it to the next rung of the monkey bars was equivalent to scaling the tallest of mountains. The practice and preparation it took to claim the victory was long and toilsome work--at least a few precious days of recess. Nothing stands as tall as the feeling of accomplishment in an innocent mind; you are untouchable. Obstacles sure are different now. There is rarely an audience waiting to applaud your newest feat and stare sparkly-eyed at your beaming smile. For the most part, your audience has wilted into an apathetic group of peers who find a new item on the lunch menu just as exciting as your accomplishments. 

Back when the question of 'Who are you?' could be answered by a favorite book, color and vacation spot, my complex was one dimensional. Thought was never necessary when dreams were so much more concrete. 13 lawyers, 20 nurses, and 15 future presidents miraculously walked through the same doors every morning-- and that was okay. "Who I am" was a futile answer because so much of my identity relied upon other people. It was hard to speak of a grand place in the world when the very shoes that I walked in were dependent upon someone else's ability to tie them.

And then a realistic view of the world hit me like a plank falling at terminal velocity. I found that heartache, apathy, dead ends, lies, and shortcomings were as plentiful as the innocent dreams that they now crushed. It became hard to let people in because I now knew the product of vulnerability. Dreams had to be stifled because money, capabilities, and accessibility were now factors in the equation of possibility. Obstacles were no longer shoelaces and monkey bars, but the blunt recognition of lost naivety. Most of all, "Who are you?" was no longer asked by others; it was asked by me.   

With a whole-hearted acceptance of the simplicity of youth, I began to contrast the complexity that comes with age. I began thinking, Which one is better? Back when I was ignorant to the unfairness of the world and failure was a foreign term, I sucked the 'marrow out of life' and knew no boundaries. Now that I had been introduced to the world's vices, I saw the potential for dissapointment, but I also saw the possibility of good. This awarness, unfortunately, made the action of taking leaps much harder. I had just been aquainted with the 'real world' in time for high school to assure me that there was so much more life to live. Oh great, I've only just begun. 

Here is the problem: I am half logical and half emotionally driven. My logical side would agree that simplicity was better- there were fewer pros and cons to weigh, deep thought was rarely activated, and my eyes were not ladened with hurt. However, my emotional side would protest, saying that complexity was best-I could navigate through choices based upon experience, I would have a better understanding of the world, and I could finally muster up a response to "Who are you?" 

But that's life. Simplicity of childhood is what prepares us for the complexity of adulthood. Without

an innocent view of the world as a child, the hard facts that life offers would numb us to hope, dreams, and love. It is from that sparkly-eyed optimism that I remember the good in the world. As I approach the end of the road, I admit, what lies beyond  is daunting. Thankfully, I know Someone who has had this road mapped out long before I began to walk it. He gave me the precious experiences that have gotten me to where I am today, and I will desperately rely upon that truth as I waltz ahead. Life sure will be different now, but hey, I'm ready.