Old Soul
"You came out of the womb acting like an adult," my paternal grandmother would say to me sarcastically. I often wondered how she made such an observation since we only saw her once a year from my birth until we moved to Florida when I was 10. But, apparently, those times were enough for her to draw that conclusion.
Not that I would have ever said this to her--lack of respect for any adults was not tolerated in my family--but in my defense, I felt that it was expected. I was the oldest of three girls. I was told explicitly and repeatedly I had to set the example for my younger sisters. Acting silly often got me in trouble--not because I did anything wrong but because it irritated one or both of my parents.
In her defense, I am inherently mature--to a fault. I bossed my cousins and sisters around. Took charge of most situations with friends. Became an unwitting leader.
I was often viewed as stuck up by my peers, surely because I looked at them like they had five heads when they simply were acting their age. It wasn't the kind of conceit where I thought I was better than them--I have never had self-esteem that high--but looking back, I can see it was conceit all the same.
I wonder now how my life would look if I had loosened up and had a little more fun. Went to more sleepovers on weekends instead of babysitting every Friday and Saturday night. Worked fifteen hours a week instead of thirty my junior and senior years of high school, allowing me to get involved in school activities. Bit the bullet and took out student loans instead of working a full-time plus a part-time job (or two) while attending college so I could enjoy the college experience a bit.
Then, it hit me: I didn't want to do any of those things. Babysitting was a good excuse to avoid social situations that made me uncomfortable. Nobody believes it now, but I was painfully shy and socially awkward. I couldn't stand most of my high school peers. They acted like morons in my book. And the party scene in college was not my thing. I liked to be in control of my brain and body, so getting wasted really didn't appeal to me.
Even as a 48-year-old woman, I shake my head at the behavior of grown ass people who should definitely know better. Do better. Be better. I guess when it comes to behavioral expectations, I am more than a little haughty. It doesn't mean I don't have fun--I just don't need to do crazy things to make that happen. Some will call my brand of fun lame. I'm OK with being lame. In fact, I love lameness, revel in it. It's comfortable and safe for me.
I am proud to be an old soul. It has served me well over the years. But, I realize now I have to let others be who they are as well--even if it means they act in ways I find immature. Because a whole world of people like me would indeed be a little lame.
Not that I would have ever said this to her--lack of respect for any adults was not tolerated in my family--but in my defense, I felt that it was expected. I was the oldest of three girls. I was told explicitly and repeatedly I had to set the example for my younger sisters. Acting silly often got me in trouble--not because I did anything wrong but because it irritated one or both of my parents.
In her defense, I am inherently mature--to a fault. I bossed my cousins and sisters around. Took charge of most situations with friends. Became an unwitting leader.
I was often viewed as stuck up by my peers, surely because I looked at them like they had five heads when they simply were acting their age. It wasn't the kind of conceit where I thought I was better than them--I have never had self-esteem that high--but looking back, I can see it was conceit all the same.
I wonder now how my life would look if I had loosened up and had a little more fun. Went to more sleepovers on weekends instead of babysitting every Friday and Saturday night. Worked fifteen hours a week instead of thirty my junior and senior years of high school, allowing me to get involved in school activities. Bit the bullet and took out student loans instead of working a full-time plus a part-time job (or two) while attending college so I could enjoy the college experience a bit.
Then, it hit me: I didn't want to do any of those things. Babysitting was a good excuse to avoid social situations that made me uncomfortable. Nobody believes it now, but I was painfully shy and socially awkward. I couldn't stand most of my high school peers. They acted like morons in my book. And the party scene in college was not my thing. I liked to be in control of my brain and body, so getting wasted really didn't appeal to me.
Even as a 48-year-old woman, I shake my head at the behavior of grown ass people who should definitely know better. Do better. Be better. I guess when it comes to behavioral expectations, I am more than a little haughty. It doesn't mean I don't have fun--I just don't need to do crazy things to make that happen. Some will call my brand of fun lame. I'm OK with being lame. In fact, I love lameness, revel in it. It's comfortable and safe for me.I am proud to be an old soul. It has served me well over the years. But, I realize now I have to let others be who they are as well--even if it means they act in ways I find immature. Because a whole world of people like me would indeed be a little lame.
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