Seeing yourself in someone else

The strangest thing is happening.

Lena is starting to remind me of me.

My parents will disagree. They say she's brighter and more outgoing and more fearless, and OK I GET IT you love her better than me, but that's not it.

She's starting to remind me of me in ways that only I would know.

When I was younger, 7 or 8, I know it was 3rd and 4th grade, I had a best friend, Lily, and we would spend hours on weekends or teacher work days or after school playing in the woods behind my house. We have a great creek down there, and there was a set of trails that we would roam around, pretending we were indian princesses, running away from our families. We would scout out hiding places; a fallen tree leaning against a standing one would be our shelter for the night. The exposed roots of trees overhanging the creek would be our secret hide out. We would jump to the rocks in the middle of the creek and we were on deserted islands. We turned over rocks, caught crayfish. We were always on the look out for the perfect walking stick. Small and straight sticks became arrows for bows and arrows. We were armed, we were fearless. Some days we were barefoot.

Lena is like this too. She's mesmerized by running water. She's starting to point out campsites. A small depression in some weeds becomes "a home for a wolf". She sees things in the trees. She points out letters and shapes.

She loves bugs and frogs and snakes.

But I loved bugs and frogs and snakes too.

When does that leave you, you know? Being a carefree kid with nothing to worry about. Sometimes I worry that it's harder for girls than it is for boys. After elementary school girls and boys started to separate. We (as girls) were supposed to be more worried about what we wore and what we looked like. I can't remember who stopped going down to the creek after school first, all I remember is that it stopped.

There were a couple of glorious days when we fell back into our carefree exploring lives. It was a snow day, we were in middle school then, and there was a big development going up in the woods behind our school. (Modern day Southern Village, for those in the area.) Susan and I tramped through bulldozed roads and walked into houses that were being built. We were explorers, runaways, tramping miles through the snow until we found shelter. Now I drive by those houses to and from the park and think to myself, if only you knew who the first occupants were.

Life is really hard, and blah blah blah, and sometimes I just want to know if I'm the only one scared shitless about the future, and if I'm not and I know I can't be, can't we all admit it and lose the facade of having-it-together, and then can we all go out for a drink and talk about it? Because that would be way more productive than me sitting in my parked car outside of daycare and trying to decide which parents are having marital problems, which dads still smoke outside on the porch, which ones are recovering alcoholics. Can't we just admit all of our problems and move forward?

I think my problem is that I'm too attached to being 19.

I still feel like a kid sometimes. I remember going down to the creek. I remember walking back up the hill to my house. It's still my house. I remember what it was like. And I don't know how to explain it. When I see these things in Lena, it's hard to just play along with her and encourage her escapades. It makes me want to runaway and play by myself. I don't of course. It just sends me back.

And I see this in Lena, and I know that this is what she's supposed to be doing. But part of me thinks she's taking my place now. She's the kid. And the kid in me wants to say, what am I supposed to do. But I know the answer. Now I have to be the grown up.

Gosh, there's like a theme here or something.