Growing Up with Myself

{This was called Fears, then Me, then Growing Up with Me}

Every person is different. I am the only ME there has ever been, and ever will be. Ever. My mind works differently than anyone else's. No one else has the same collection of likes, hates, talents, dreams and fears.

I've been trying to understand myself better lately. I mean, I'm going off to college in less than a year, and I think it would be great if I had some idea of the person I'm supposed to be. {I've actually tried to do that for years, but it's obviously never been as urgent as it is now.}

When I was little, I had it pretty much all together. I liked books, talking, playing pretend, Jesus, and the concept of orphans. I wanted to be the first woman president, an artist, and an astronaut. I also wanted an older brother.

As the years wore on, I gradually matured. I was okay with that. By age 10, I had decided that I liked books, talking, playing pretend, the concept of orphans, Jesus, writing and elves and languages and dancing. I wanted to be an orphanage keeper, the first woman president, and an author.

And then I hit 12 and had the typical identity crisis. Books didn't cut it, I didn't have anything good to say, I was too old to play pretend, orphans was a weird thing to like, and Jesus seemed far away. I didn't know if I was good at writing. Elves and languages were labeled nerdy. Dance was stressing me out. I still wanted to be a writer, but that was way in the future and didn't really apply to me at the moment.

I spent the years from 12 to about 15 clinging desperately to the of the imagination I thought was fading. I was self-conscious about myself and playing pretend was inching its way out of the question. I did not want to grow up. I wanted to stay 12, or 13, or 14. I really, really, really did not want to be 16. In my mind, 16-year-old girls were the epitome of shallowness and giggles and sparkles and everything I didn't want to be.

But I turned 16 anyway.

That year was insane. I cried a lot, I laughed a lot, I wore a lot of makeup, I wore a lot of nail polish, I obsessed a lot over my image, I wrote a lot of emo journal entries.

But it still wasn't exactly what I'd feared.

I still had an imagination. I had been so sure it was fading. I just knew that if I didn't hold onto it with every tooth and nail, it would slip away. Maybe the holding on helped, or maybe I was just borrowing trouble, because my 16-year-old mind came up with stuff every bit as good as my paranoid 12-year-old one.

I still loved books and writing and playing pretend, even if only in my mind. I still loved elves and languages. I still loved Jesus and there was no denying that the concept of orphans still fascinated me. I wanted to be a writer and a lawyer.

I really wasn't that different from who I'd been my whole life. I wasn't shallow or giggly or sparkly. {I couldn't drive either though. Bummer.}

In short, Sweet 16 was outrageously overrated. It wasn't sweet in the sparkly sense, and it didn't suck in the...suckfest sense. It was basically just one more year: the big milestone I had been dreading for four years.

Now I'm 17, which I was really looking forward to. Odd numbers sound more interesting, and 15 was really good, so I figured 17 would be too.

I'm not done with 17 yet. But it's almost done with me. I have about two months left of it before I'm, like, a legal adult. {Lawl.} I'm not sure how I feel about that honestly. 17 sounds so good. It's like the perfect age. You can drive {except I can't, but as a general rule I mean}; you only have a year of high school left; you're old enough to make your own choices and young enough to have help from parents. It's great.

It is.

Really.

Hm.

Who I am at 17 is very different from who I was at 16. I'm not as naive. I'm not as emotional. I'm not as judgmental.

I like books, writing, dreams, dancing, languages, elves, eyeliner, fire fairies, Jesus, minor keys, and hott guys.

I want to be a writer, a lawyer, a mom and maybe a kindergarten teacher.

I know a lot about myself now, more than ever. But sometimes I still like that I don't know WHO I AM. It's a learning process, and as soon as I figure it out, I change again.

I'm pretty sure this is a lifelong project. We change a lot. We grow often. Who you are today isn't the same person you were yesterday, and there's no guarantee you'll be this way tomorrow. I think I'll have to be satisfied with that. I'll just have to love myself the way I am right now, and be excited to find out who I'll be tomorrow. I have to believe that I'm special and God made me this way on purpose.

Because after all, I'm the only ME this world is ever going to get.

~Stephanie