Second Grade

I don't remember much from my childhood. I don't really remember most of my life. For some reason I mostly have only vague memories of what my life was like at certain points in time. I remember certain routines and surroundings from different places and times in my life, usually without much distinct detail. Faded feelings and incomplete memories from the 22 years of my life flicker through my mind's eye like the images of an old film that's deteriorated from lack of use and attention. The projector light shoots every tenth or one hundredth image from the film onto the wall of the theater. It's hard to tell if the the images flash in and out in a coherent sequence. But they are all I can really remember, at least right now.

Some images stand out. Some memories somehow have held onto an accessible set of neurons in my brain. Some images from my past I can still see, some feelings from years ago I can still feel. Sometimes they almost haunt me. The images of memories sharpen and fade in and out of my brain, and prick my thoughts and feelings, stinging me with the sourness of distant experiences. It's all in the past. It all happened so long ago. But somehow, it can feel like yesterday.

"Come on guys? I promise."

"I will bring you some candy and treats every day if you don't go over there."

"Stay on my side. Don't join the group."

"Please?"

James and Mike were the only two peers of mine who hadn't joined Nick in ostrasizing me. The rest of them bonded over their exclusion on the playground while I was in the classroom making deals with the two neutral kids. "I might just be able to make them my friends," I must have been thinking. "If I can play my cards right, I won't be compeletely alone on the playground." But I think that at that point I already was.

This happened a long time ago. It may have lasted for only one day or even less. To every other child there, it may no longer exist. But my memory of the situation still stings. Some things just don't fade away. I doubt that was the first time I tried to buy attention and approval and I know it was not the last.

I have recently been asking myself what it means to just be myself. How do I stop trying to win approval for who I am? Why is it so hard to let go and be me sometimes? After trying for so long to be likable, I find myself trying to figure out what is important to me. I'm starting to really pay attention. I'm starting to see what I do and why. I am starting to find value in what is meaningful to me, and not in the approval that my actions win.

Who am I? After years of trying to fit in and buy "friendship" with some sort of treat, I am discovring that it is nice to really do what is important to me, to do what brings me a sense of meaning. A simple realization some people might think - a tough one for me to really grasp.