Saturday, August 12, 2006
Whole Lotta Love
I have a weird maternal urge when I see small children and babies where a side of my brain comes on and says "awwww, I want one!" Then the rational side of my brain corrects it and adds "someday".
And the thing is, this reaction really only started recently. Isn't 18 a little young to start having this weird gut maternal instinct? I thought this happened when you were about 30 usually! (And I don't like newborn babies. But that's a different rant altogether).
But in reality I think that reaction is just part of a larger scheme of longing. I see these glimpses of what I want in the future, yet at the same time I know just how immature and niave and stupid I am, and how I still have so much to learn about taking care of myself and learning how to be an adult (or a pseudo-adult college kid) and how the world works.
I'm always dreaming about the future, even though I am enjoying now immensely, and even 18 is a wonderful age, and even though I know the next four years will be one hell of a ride and will leave me just as changed and will cause me to grow just as much (if not more) as these past four years of high school have. It's moved beyond dreaming about wanting to be a ballerina or a movie star, beyond dreaming about wanting to be a college kid, and into dreaming about wanting to become an independent, competant adult with my own life and my own choices free from the restrictions of my parents.
The older I get, though, the more I realize that my parents aren't exactly trying to micro-manage my life because they enjoy ruling with an iron fist like I might joke and complain. I've only recently started to really get what all this angst about control is actually about (one of those "I knew it intellectually, but didn't understand it intuitively until now" epiphanies): I can't possibly understand how much of an investment my parents have put into me. I can't possibly understand their hopes and wishes for me, how much they feel that they need to protect me from danger. No, let's be blunt: I can't possibly understand how much they love me.
I was at Ravinia people watching a few weeks ago, and it dawned on me how dissapointing it would be to have a child who had a severe disability, or who was severely ill, because already--years and years before I want to have kids--I have ridiculously high hopes for them. I mean, I know I will have enough unconditional love for any child of mine, however he/she turns out, and blah blah blah, but let's face it, no one dreams of having a kid with Downs Syndrome.
Everything that I do is a triumph or dissapointment for them too, because they care so much and they hope so much. If I get bad grades, or alter my appearance in an unseemly way, or if I behave in a way they deam dangerous or immoral, a part of them will feel like I am trying to hurt them and disrespect what they've done for me, even if--in their hearts--they know that isn't true and they will always love me no matter what. And, yes, I am so extremely lucky to have parents that have invested so much into my life.
But even if that's the case, I can't live my life to please. What they really want for me, whether they admit it or not, is what I want for me--for me to be a competant, independent adult with a successful, fufilling life. It took me a long time to understand that they want me to share my life with them, but not the painful parts--the risks I need to take and the mistakes I need to make to grow as a person, or to experience life. The best I can do is show they how much I appreciate what they have given me by working to become that successful person I supposedly want to be, and by keeping the rest of my life private.
But the exciting part is someday, I might have the opportunity to care that deeply. And I think the reason why, when I see a baby, I feel like I want one, is I am finally realizing how much being a parent involves (or at least it should), and how special that is. So, as I watch them freak out about the fact I'm leaving and get emotional over these silly little things, I finally realize that they aren't psycho control freaks--that it's just another manifestation of how much they love me.
And the thing is, this reaction really only started recently. Isn't 18 a little young to start having this weird gut maternal instinct? I thought this happened when you were about 30 usually! (And I don't like newborn babies. But that's a different rant altogether).
But in reality I think that reaction is just part of a larger scheme of longing. I see these glimpses of what I want in the future, yet at the same time I know just how immature and niave and stupid I am, and how I still have so much to learn about taking care of myself and learning how to be an adult (or a pseudo-adult college kid) and how the world works.
I'm always dreaming about the future, even though I am enjoying now immensely, and even 18 is a wonderful age, and even though I know the next four years will be one hell of a ride and will leave me just as changed and will cause me to grow just as much (if not more) as these past four years of high school have. It's moved beyond dreaming about wanting to be a ballerina or a movie star, beyond dreaming about wanting to be a college kid, and into dreaming about wanting to become an independent, competant adult with my own life and my own choices free from the restrictions of my parents.
The older I get, though, the more I realize that my parents aren't exactly trying to micro-manage my life because they enjoy ruling with an iron fist like I might joke and complain. I've only recently started to really get what all this angst about control is actually about (one of those "I knew it intellectually, but didn't understand it intuitively until now" epiphanies): I can't possibly understand how much of an investment my parents have put into me. I can't possibly understand their hopes and wishes for me, how much they feel that they need to protect me from danger. No, let's be blunt: I can't possibly understand how much they love me.
I was at Ravinia people watching a few weeks ago, and it dawned on me how dissapointing it would be to have a child who had a severe disability, or who was severely ill, because already--years and years before I want to have kids--I have ridiculously high hopes for them. I mean, I know I will have enough unconditional love for any child of mine, however he/she turns out, and blah blah blah, but let's face it, no one dreams of having a kid with Downs Syndrome.
Everything that I do is a triumph or dissapointment for them too, because they care so much and they hope so much. If I get bad grades, or alter my appearance in an unseemly way, or if I behave in a way they deam dangerous or immoral, a part of them will feel like I am trying to hurt them and disrespect what they've done for me, even if--in their hearts--they know that isn't true and they will always love me no matter what. And, yes, I am so extremely lucky to have parents that have invested so much into my life.
But even if that's the case, I can't live my life to please. What they really want for me, whether they admit it or not, is what I want for me--for me to be a competant, independent adult with a successful, fufilling life. It took me a long time to understand that they want me to share my life with them, but not the painful parts--the risks I need to take and the mistakes I need to make to grow as a person, or to experience life. The best I can do is show they how much I appreciate what they have given me by working to become that successful person I supposedly want to be, and by keeping the rest of my life private.
But the exciting part is someday, I might have the opportunity to care that deeply. And I think the reason why, when I see a baby, I feel like I want one, is I am finally realizing how much being a parent involves (or at least it should), and how special that is. So, as I watch them freak out about the fact I'm leaving and get emotional over these silly little things, I finally realize that they aren't psycho control freaks--that it's just another manifestation of how much they love me.
