While my husband was in quarantine he spent some time loading old home movies from VHS to his hard drive so he could have them saved digitally before the tapes deteriorate. We used to go on vacations in college and take a video camera along and film very stupid things we did along the way. Most of it was dumb, video taken as we drove down the highway. Some of it was funny or entertaining. He kept sending me clips with comments like "I'd forgotten how funny you were on this trip" and he's right. I was. It was weird watching those clips, though, because a piece of me kept thinking "I don't know who that person is. She died a long time ago. She was great, though". That was a version of me before life broke me against its rocks. A version who was still idealistic, who was excited by things, who didn't have to try to plan or manage every moment of every day. She was carefree, because the world hadn't taught her to be anything else yet.
I sometimes wonder where things took a turn, and at what point that part of me just disappeared. It's not like life was easier then. I was in college full time, working full time, living in an apartment and making peanuts. But at that point in my life, I still really believed that enough hard work would earn you the payoff you wanted or deserved. I had never encountered a job or a manager who didn't think I was amazing. I had climbed in a company from a sales associate to a corporate employee in charge of reforming and reshaping the role I was hired into. At that point in my life, everything still felt possible. At that point in my life, I was going to do something that mattered. I was going to find a way to make the world better. I was idealistic. I was doing things that made me happy (mostly) and I was working toward a goal. I was funny because I didn't take too many things that seriously.
Now I live a life where everything. is. serious. Managing a career, a family and a household takes an immense amount of mental energy. Remembering where a stray shoe was last seen or where someone left their keys can be exhausting sometimes. Vacations are no longer a scenario of "Let's see what we feel like doing when we're there" because there is a child involved. A child who needs entertainment, and amusement, and cannot lose their goddamn owl because it's not replaceable. Now vacationing is just list after list after list, and attempting to ward off conflict before it happens. Did I bring enough snacks to make sure we avoid a meltdown? Did I bring extra clothes in case she falls into a puddle? DOES ANYONE HAVE EYES ON THE GODDAMN OWL? Imagine trying to feel relaxed in the midst of all of that. It's so hard. And even if we travel without the child, there will be the inevitable argument over which restaurant we have dinner in, because we didn't research and plan ahead because I wanted a break from making the lists and the plans for a hot minute. Which means the next thing you know, you find yourselves wandering New York City with limited time available between shows you've booked tickets for, and it's nearly 100 degrees and you're trying to figure out what to do for dinner but neither of you wants to be the one to make the decision so you just end up snapping at each other in the street because you're both hot and tired and you go back to your hotel and mutually decide to starve while refusing to speak to each other for an hour. Not that I've experienced that before.....
So I went from being someone energetic and full of humor to someone who is forever trying to stay ahead of someone's needs, or someone's mood, or someone's reaction to someone's mood. It's not relaxing, and it makes me decidedly un-fun. But I also can't turn it off. That task master part of myself is just in there, reminding me that disaster could strike because I neglected the list and the tasks. My confidence that I was always the best choice in the room was crushed by a psychotic boss who destroyed me, and then several other very bad leaders who used every word I said as a weapon against me. I sometimes think about the 23 year old who walked into her first corporate interview so certain that they could not ever find a better candidate and I envy her, because now in my rapidly approaching middle age, I wonder daily if I am even smart enough to do the work I do. I look around at everyone I know who all seem very....adult. Very self assured and confident, and most days I still feel like I'm putting on my grown up mask and pretending I fit in. The fact that my kids look up to me like I have one fucking clue what I'm doing is just terrifying. Like.......think about that! When you were small you truly believed that your parents how to do everything, and now that you're a parent you have to be like "Oh my god, child me was so dumb! I don't know squat!"
I do miss that long deceased version of me, though. The one with the bobbed hair and the oversized sunglasses (ok, I still have those) who wore a swimsuit without thinking about who might be looking at her, who narrated home videos in silly accents and laughed at everything. The person who laughed easily, and often. The person who could have confetti thrown at her and laugh instead of immediately thinking about how annoying it was going to be to clean up later. Maybe she's still in there somewhere. Maybe we'll see her again some day. I doubt it. But who knows?
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