It has been far too long since I participated in a Sunday Scribblings prompt, but this week's topic seemed to spark some inspiration.
As a young child, I was a "dream kid" for my parents... easy and cooperative most of the time, and the kind of little girl other parents loved, too, because not only was I a "nice girl" (which is what little girls in the 1960s were raised to be) but I was a child who would talk to adults and was comfortable doing so.
Entering the teen years, I'd say I was pretty typical. I did my fair share of rebelling against my mother's need to try and control me (as I saw it, anyway), cut school sometimes and did a little under-age drinking. Oddly enough, I don't consider any of that time as "misspent", and while I wouldn't brag about those escapades to my nieces and nephews, I have many fond memories of those teen years -- even the things that probably drove my poor mother to distraction and made her wonder if I would EVER "grow up" and make something of myself.
There is one way, however, I believe that I misspent my time growing up; one area where I look back with some dissatisfaction on my choices as a younger person. And that is how much energy I wasted in NOT realizing just how amazing a person I really was. And how much focus I put on the good opinion of others, and on feeling bad about ME when I didn't get that good opinion. Where I misspent my youth most was in believing I was never good enough. At anything. For anyone.
I know everyone feels this way from time to time, and it's normal. And in my case, I often did a great job of masking my deeper insecurities. Nonetheless, they existed, and as a result I walked around with a constantly nagging need to find ways to feel acceptable, even preferred, to other people. I suppose I could have resorted to really self-destructive behaviors to get these needs met, but at least I found what proved to be healthier outlets for my gut-wrenching lack of self-esteem.
I desperately wanted people to like and approve of me. I wanted applause. So I joined all the performing arts activities the school provided: plays, school bands, choir, everything. I wanted to be praised for something, and music seemed to be one thing I could do well enough to earn some kudos. This despite being virtually self-taught at relearning the piano (I had had some lessons as a child but had not touched a piano in something like 5-6 years when I joined the jazz band) and being completely self-taught at playing the xylophone (if you want to stand out in a school band, play an instrument NO ONE else can play, and play it well enough to get an entire solo in the spring concert!)
I wanted to have lots of friends, to feel just a little bit popular. In hanging around the the musical/artsy crowd, I found a group of kindred spirits and a social life. I got invited to parties. I hosted parties where everyone wanted to come. I was "in", at least within my own chosen group.
I wanted to have a boyfriend. Within the band kids, there were lots of really nice boys, boys with whom I developed friendships, and occasionally a bit more. As kids often do at that age, your affections could switch loyalties rather quickly, and when boys I liked chose other girls, I was devastated. But I always tried to act like it didn't bother me. Consequently I came away from high school feeling like I would perpetually be the kind of girl that boys would always want to be friends with (nice) but who would probably never want to go out with (oh, so sad). That feeling carried with me all the way into adulthood, and even when therapy and self-help books made me see how silly this was, the feeling continued to haunt me on occasions even until... well, recently, when I fell in love with a man who definitely wants to be much more than just my "friend", and who gives me the message every single day that I am perfect just the way I am and I need not change a thing.
I remember in the movie "The Holiday" where Kate Winslet's character is talking to this older gentleman, Arthur, about her sad love life. Arthur says: "There are two kinds of women in the movies: the leading lady, and the best friend. You're acting like the best friend." And Kate says, "You're right! You're supposed to be the leading lady in your own life!" I spent my youth believing I was never meant to the the leading lady in anything, but only a supporting character. What a waste!
So looking back, where I regret having misspent my youth was the time I spent on feeling badly about myself at all. I wish that all teenagers had a way of understanding that there is a huge world out there to be experienced and conquered, and everyone is going to be good at something. Everyone will eventually find out what they are good at. They will find out what their best personal attributes are and they will sometimes even feel beautiful or handsome, even if THEIR photos are not those being posted on billboards and on the covers of magazines as the standard of what is considered attractive by our culture.
And the biggest way we short-change ourselves is in wasting time feeling "less than" anyone, for any reason. We are all magnificent, each in his or her own way. To believe any less of yourself -- whether you are young, or not so young -- is the only real "sin", to my way of thinking.
So, while I will entertain myself at odd moments with cheerful memories of my crazy youth -- such as the time I went to a school dance with some friends, drank too much blackberry brandy (I can't even stand the smell of that stuff now), came home drunk with my 15-year old sister, who fell coming in the front door, and got read the riot act by our understandably FURIOUS mother at 1 o'clock in the morning, to which I slurred the following response: "Mom, I am in no condition to appreciate this right now. Can't you wait until the morning and yell at me then?" -- and will have no regrets about those memories (after all, I survived them and no real harm done), I will sometimes wistfully wish I had known better back then.
Known what a truly incredible human being I already was and would turn out to be. Known that my life would be something I would be proud of, despite having made many mistakes along the way. Known that, although perhaps later than I thought, I would find a sense of self, plus adventure and love, and that I would become what and who I always wanted to be.
My only regret is not being able to go back in time and tell the younger Me to stop being so hard on herself and to stop caring so much what everyone else thought of her. I finally got that message. It just took me way too long.
