I saw this kid outside working on the garden in front of where I work this morning. At first I sort of identified with her, then I realized that she might be as much as 12 years younger than me. This is not about me turning 30, at least I don’t think it is. I think it’s about the fact that I don’t feel like an adult. I don’t feel like I act like an adult. Or at least my definition of what an adult is, though I’m aware it might look like I am an 'adult' by some people looking in from the outside. I guess I’d just figured I’d know more and feel more poised, or something.
I think this is perpetuated by the fact that, although I am not the youngest child, I’ve always ended up in work environments where I am the youngest person. It’s the role I play, though not one I’d complain about. It’s just that way. But I’m really not that person in other situations. Maybe I’m a different person, or at least I perceive myself as such, with every person I know. Not in the sense of the sacred truths, but in the presentation of it all. And then I wonder about how I used to be so painfully shy and how I’m not really that way anymore. I remember not correcting adults who mispronounced my name in kindergarten because I just couldn’t speak. Huh. My little melancholic philosophical flight of fancy for today.
It makes me think of Gerard Manley Hopkins…. “Margaret are you grieving over goldengrove unleaving?”. I realize my interpretation of it isn’t the standard (and I don't care), but I’ve loved that poem for the sounds of it since I first studied it in first year university. I think with Adamson. I always thought it was about growing up.
I think this is perpetuated by the fact that, although I am not the youngest child, I’ve always ended up in work environments where I am the youngest person. It’s the role I play, though not one I’d complain about. It’s just that way. But I’m really not that person in other situations. Maybe I’m a different person, or at least I perceive myself as such, with every person I know. Not in the sense of the sacred truths, but in the presentation of it all. And then I wonder about how I used to be so painfully shy and how I’m not really that way anymore. I remember not correcting adults who mispronounced my name in kindergarten because I just couldn’t speak. Huh. My little melancholic philosophical flight of fancy for today.
It makes me think of Gerard Manley Hopkins…. “Margaret are you grieving over goldengrove unleaving?”. I realize my interpretation of it isn’t the standard (and I don't care), but I’ve loved that poem for the sounds of it since I first studied it in first year university. I think with Adamson. I always thought it was about growing up.
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