I look into the eyes of this little 6 year old girl and I wonder what she was thinking in that moment. She has these eyes that seem to be ever planning, always preparing for some upcoming campaign. But I wonder if this little girl ever just did things for no purpose other than fun.
It’s hard to be “carefree” when you come into knowledge of your life’s purpose at a young age. It’s a weight that you are uniquely fitted to suit and it’s pretty much impossible to distinguish it from the rest of your being. And when that work is something that is tough for others to grasp, it can make the journey into adulthood feel very lonely at times.
You miss out on a lot. Even when you are physically present in the moment with your peers your mind can disengage and take you off to other places. This girl went to a junior high school dance where everyone seemed to be having fun and went through the motions but couldn’t understand the point of it all. She read Babysitter Club books and explored the personality profiles of each girl and the business structure of their club which she adapted and used for her own short-lived babysitting enterprise. But she also read Bronte and Austen and thought deeply about the subjugation of women and dreamed about what she could do to make things better.
She wrote about these things for class essays and projects and it made her an oddity. So, she tried to keep her thoughts to herself and that was equally maddening. Music helped, keeping her own journals helped, having empathetic parents really helped.
The experience aged that little girl well beyond her years. She coped as best she could in her purpose driven life and by 25 she felt entirely used up. Frustration and anger were her constant companions as she sought to figure out what she had done wrong. The problem must be her mind, that’s what stood between her and a normal life. She tried all that she could to disconnect, to hideaway her thoughts, insights. She put her hand and her head down and fought to squeeze into an ordinary existence and in Heaven, angels wept at her effort.
~ Marta C. Youngblood
Author’s Note: This story may jump around and change a lot. I’m writing it very freestyle. It’s possible that this story is in fact writing me.