Saturday Morning Special

I was waiting for friends at a movie theater on Sunday afternoon when a huge group of teenagers walked into the lobby. I would guess they were about 12 or 13. I watched them like an anthropologist for a long time, paying attention to the chatty leaders, the ones that stood around the periphery of the group, the props they held (skateboards, cell phones, purses, etc.), the ways they interacted with each other, the gender division and those who bridged it, the way they all looked simultaneously insecure, yet rebelliously defiant. I could see and hear a lot of the adults standing around me and the common thoughts for all of us were, “WOW” and “I’m so glad I’m not a teenager anymore.”

What struck me as I watched them was the realization that the girls that used to intimidate me with their popularity were THAT age at the time. They were THAT little and immature. Yet they held so much power over me, essentially igniting insecurities that exist today in some form or another. But on the other side of the coin, seeing those girls for what they really are (young, clueless, naïve, insecure) made me realize that those girls who used to hold all the power no longer did. That may seem ridiculous, that I let go of the teenagers that had power over me half my life ago, but it was a relief.

I switched from watching the teenagers to watching the adults coming in and out of the theater. In comparison, the adults just seemed more natural and at ease, they were relaxed and utterly themselves. I realized that people do grow up. I’m a grown-up. This really doesn’t ring true to me most of the time. I still feel like a kid, especially since I still sorta look like one. I always get carded. When I worked at a school in my mid-20s I was often mistaken for kids half my age. I could never look convincing as one of those dressed-up New York businesswomen. And it doesn’t make sense to me that I have responsibilities, that I’m getting married, that some day I might have kids, that I need to save for retirement. A lot of the time I’m not convinced that who I am today is that different from who I was at 18 years old. But I guess I am.

I think part of the reason that accepting myself as an adult is difficult is that sometimes I’m completely dismayed by how childlike adults are—one just has to look at the absurdity of our behavior, the wars, psychological games, prejudices, desire for power and control. The inhumanity and cruelty of the world gets to me. It seems like we should be wiser than that. We should me smarter than that. We should have learned these lessons and moved on, making the world a better place as we grow-up. There is just not enough growing up happening in the world.

I think part of the problem is that we hold on to the insecurities that are instilled in us as teenagers. I loathe being around the hipster scene in Los Angeles because it feels like the “popular kids” all over again. The same thing goes for celebrities, they are the nation’s popular kids. We watch and gossip about them at the lunch table. Everything is about being seen, wearing the right clothes, going to the right places, the perfect pair of sunglasses. I have no desire to follow but I also hate sticking out. This is the teenager in me. I’m perfectly happy when I can blend in, when I can avoid being seen. If I can do that, then I can avoid the judgment, the dreaded judgment.

I think so much of being a girl and a woman is finding a way to deal with the judgment of all the people that see you. Some handle it spectacularly, they embrace the attention and use if powerfully to further themselves. Others, like me, struggle to find who they are amid all the fitting in.

My whole life I’ve been unhappy with my wardrobe. I can never seem to find the clothes that fit me while also correctly reflecting my personality. It wasn’t until recently that I figured out that the reason I was having a hard time finding the right clothes was because I didn’t know who I was or who I wanted to be. I’ve always been so jealous of the people who look so put together—whether they are vintage clothes horses or fashionistas—I just wanted to be put together in my own way.

The same goes for jobs. I’m always jealous of the people who targeted a passion or career early on and have fought ambitiously to work their way to those goals. I’ve never known what I wanted to be and so constantly feel behind those who hit the ground running after graduation.

I think it takes confidence to be successful: you need to know who you are and where you’re heading and have complete faith in the fact that you can do whatever you set your mind on. I don’t think successful people doubt themselves very much. How does one get to that point if they didn’t start out that way? The teenager in me really, really wants to know.

I really don’t know where I’m going with all this. I can see the life experiences that form who we are as adults. I can see that in the good and bad choices we all make. I understand the urge to be liked and admired, but I don’t want to be liked and admired for anything but who I truly am and what I want for myself. I want to be able to embrace certain things about being young (the energy, desire for the future, imagination, heart, openness to the world and its experiences, love for friends, appreciation for independence) while I reject others (insecurity, self-loathing, being self-conscious). I want the world to use our collective wisdom to make grown-up choices, I want us to rise above power, greed, popularity, and expectation—to make life more free and enjoyable, to allow people to be themselves without judgment or harm. I guess I want to be a grown-up, a happy grown-up.

Check out this interesting article in the New York Times about amazing girls and the burdens they carry as they enter adulthood. I know all too well who they are and I hope they can rise above the expectations they have for themselves to discover who they truly want to be.

And here ends this slightly nauseating Saturday Morning Special. Be Yourself. Thanks for tuning in. God I wish I were better at writing funny anecdotes.