My momma told me a story today. She told me that when I was a little older than a year, I learned to walk, as all children inevitably do. And I relished my new found freedom. I ran around for hours, refused to let people pick me up or hold me and was, as usual, a general pain in the ass for my parents. This went on until I was about four. At that age, according to my mother, I refused to walk anywhere, demanding instead to be held or carried. In a desperate attempt to appease me, my parents brought out my stroller from storage and would let me ride around in it despite the fact that I looked absurd in a stroller for a toddler. It would seem as if I realized eventually that I had it pretty damn good as a one-year old, being carried and cooed by family and friends. Maybe I was very young, but I would certainly say this constitutes my first mid-life crisis, my first attempt at rejecting the change that comes with growing up.
My momma said something else to me during this conversation that really stuck with me– she said life is happening. Not that I am living life, but that something is happening to me, just as it inevitably has to. It’s yet another time for change and growing up. It’s as exhilarating and freeing as learning to walk for the first time. But with it comes the fear of wanting to return to that stroller because people expect you to walk on your own now.