(Consider this a more descriptive commentary to accompany the previous post, “Maturation.”)
At the risk of sounding cliché, my mind’s going a million miles a minute, and has been accelerating faster more recently. I have multiple windows open on my computer screen, Post-It note/to-do lists on my planner pages (which is essentially in itself a comprehensive to-do list), and am using my arm as a makeshift planner when I’m without the actual one.
Yet here I am. In the midst of everything, I am metaphorically clearing off my desk and writing this instead.
Another thing I tend to do when pushing other work aside is pressing the “back” arrow on the pictures I’m tagged in on Facebook. I did this a few weeks ago, and wondered if the old me would be proud of or even recognize the current me.
I recently went to a 21+ event with some friends (AKA line dancing, don’t worry Mom), thus was required to provide my ID at the door. To my surprise, I was asked to recite my 5-digit zip code to prove that I was in fact the person on the ID (which of course is not a great way to verify this; anyone can memorize a 5-digit zip code).
My hair has been through small-scale reinventions, my weight’s changed, and I wear considerably less “emo” eyeliner than I did back at the good old age of 15½. Everyone looks at least somewhat different on the outside when a span of six or so years have passed, but this got me to thinking about the various evolutions my inner person has undergone during that time.
I wonder if the me of past journals would be stranger to me if we were to meet. The beliefs I have pertaining to my faith, my political leanings, and personal values have shifted to and fro over the years. Would I have done this or that back in the day? Was my honesty too honest, or my inclinations of poor taste? Have I grown more cynical; have my priorities changed for the better in most cases, or for worse in others? Do I care too much? Do I not care enough? Am I genuinely a good person, or just good enough? Are these changes a product of me being honest with myself, or is it all a façade of sorts?
As we mature, we’re supposed to have perhaps not ALL the answers, but certainly more of them. I’m finding that quite the opposite is true – the more I see, the less I know.