The Tale of the Clean Slate (Or: How I Traded Superiority & a Una-Brow for a Side-Part, Gold Medal, & Humility)
Most people dislike change. Kids especially. Changing schools, neighborhoods, friends, getting rid of the old family car. I remember crying on the lawn of my parents' little cinderblock house on Junett Street because I didn't want to move. I sobbed over a wee crummy house now suffocated by ghetto apartment complexes, in the backyard of the Tacoma Mall.
But here's the flip side of change.
The best part of a dramatic life shift is that you get to start over. Let's be honest...who of us hasn't, on a particularly awful day at school, work, or home, wanted to run away? Change our names? Start fresh?
From 9 to 11ish, my cousins, siblings, and I went to the YMCA for physical education and swimming lessons several times a week. We loved it. We ate up the innocent little dramas - a la Babysitters' Club or Boxcar Children - though we were never the center of it. We tagged along with the older kids (because, God, those 14-year-olds were kings and queens, weren't they?), grandfathered into the group by sheer luck in that one of them had a younger sister with whom we pal-ed around. (We're all still friends over a decade later.)
Then...change. Our parents decided we needed something more challenging. My mom found a connection for low-cost karate lessons that the whole family could take.
Our time at the YMCA 'hood had reached its natural end.
At first, we were bummed. After all, we had friends there still. Think of everything we would miss. Who knew who's older sister would like who next week?
Then, while trailing our Keds in the dirt under the swingset in pensive, head-slumped conversation, my cousin and I had a lightbulb moment.
We really weren't all that cool at the YMCA. (Gasp!) In fact, we were kind of the goofus little sister types, riding the ripples of the popular kids' wave, dissing kids for being shrimpy or awkward, in what I can only imagine were none-too-quiet titters. Who were we kidding? We were una-browed, braces-gilded, hair-parted-down-the-middle pre-teens barely filling our sportsbras.
At first, it kind of made me queasy. We realized we had squandered a lot of potential, taken a lot too seriously (particularly ourselves), and maybe even hurt some feelings in the process. Not to mention made ourselves look ridiculous.
But, then, a new revelation. We couldn't change what we had done, who we had been, but switching environments allowed us the opportunity to start fresh.
We could decide to be different, better. Change our names and blow this town.
On that swingset, we made a pact (a favorite past-time of ours) to be "the cool kids." The ones that were popular not because of acting cool, but rather how we included everyone, made everyone feel good, and took the lead. Sure, not so noble, but what 12-year-old is? It was a start.
I've been haunted by the same thought at every large environmental crossroads of my life - community college, university, first job, second, third... for each new group of friends, I ask myself...
...who or what was I last time?
Who do I want to be this time?
So. You're probably wondering how we did on our pact. Pretty well, I'd have to say. We still found ourselves sliding into old habits - gossiping, making fun of people - but when we did, it didn't sit well and we kicked ourselves for doing it. We worked hard at what we did, garnishing multiple medals for technique, etc., and loads of accolades for patiently teaching kids half our age. I stopped parting my hair down the middle. I eventually got my braces off. I became really good friends with someone who I ALMOST swore to hate in my first year. Plus, I learned a lot from karate itself. But that's another story.
In conclusion? It's a rare and beautiful thing when life throws you a clean slate. Take it, run with it, and chalk it full of beauty.
But here's the flip side of change.
The best part of a dramatic life shift is that you get to start over. Let's be honest...who of us hasn't, on a particularly awful day at school, work, or home, wanted to run away? Change our names? Start fresh?
From 9 to 11ish, my cousins, siblings, and I went to the YMCA for physical education and swimming lessons several times a week. We loved it. We ate up the innocent little dramas - a la Babysitters' Club or Boxcar Children - though we were never the center of it. We tagged along with the older kids (because, God, those 14-year-olds were kings and queens, weren't they?), grandfathered into the group by sheer luck in that one of them had a younger sister with whom we pal-ed around. (We're all still friends over a decade later.)
Then...change. Our parents decided we needed something more challenging. My mom found a connection for low-cost karate lessons that the whole family could take.
Our time at the YMCA 'hood had reached its natural end.
At first, we were bummed. After all, we had friends there still. Think of everything we would miss. Who knew who's older sister would like who next week?
Then, while trailing our Keds in the dirt under the swingset in pensive, head-slumped conversation, my cousin and I had a lightbulb moment.
We really weren't all that cool at the YMCA. (Gasp!) In fact, we were kind of the goofus little sister types, riding the ripples of the popular kids' wave, dissing kids for being shrimpy or awkward, in what I can only imagine were none-too-quiet titters. Who were we kidding? We were una-browed, braces-gilded, hair-parted-down-the-middle pre-teens barely filling our sportsbras.
At first, it kind of made me queasy. We realized we had squandered a lot of potential, taken a lot too seriously (particularly ourselves), and maybe even hurt some feelings in the process. Not to mention made ourselves look ridiculous.
But, then, a new revelation. We couldn't change what we had done, who we had been, but switching environments allowed us the opportunity to start fresh.
We could decide to be different, better. Change our names and blow this town.
On that swingset, we made a pact (a favorite past-time of ours) to be "the cool kids." The ones that were popular not because of acting cool, but rather how we included everyone, made everyone feel good, and took the lead. Sure, not so noble, but what 12-year-old is? It was a start.
I've been haunted by the same thought at every large environmental crossroads of my life - community college, university, first job, second, third... for each new group of friends, I ask myself...
...who or what was I last time?
Who do I want to be this time?
So. You're probably wondering how we did on our pact. Pretty well, I'd have to say. We still found ourselves sliding into old habits - gossiping, making fun of people - but when we did, it didn't sit well and we kicked ourselves for doing it. We worked hard at what we did, garnishing multiple medals for technique, etc., and loads of accolades for patiently teaching kids half our age. I stopped parting my hair down the middle. I eventually got my braces off. I became really good friends with someone who I ALMOST swore to hate in my first year. Plus, I learned a lot from karate itself. But that's another story.
In conclusion? It's a rare and beautiful thing when life throws you a clean slate. Take it, run with it, and chalk it full of beauty.
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