Growing never ends
When I was young, I wanted nothing more than to grow into something different
I was full of sophistication, creation, dreams
I hated naps, the color yellow, losing at Guitar Hero
The seemingly immemorable moments entranced me the most
I adored CDs, disposable cameras, organized picnics
My brother detested me,
I dreaded the wrath of my father, constantly in and out of trouble at daycare
I was drawn to the enigma of driving and the precariousness of the ocean
As I stared out of the window of my mom’s car,
I found moments of excitement in the games I invented,
Blinking once if we passed a tree, twice for a road sign
I leered at the thought of not changing,
I was almost given hope by the belief that I would one day be beautiful
That was my goal, my duty to womanhood, my hope in moments of despondency
When I felt like running, I held on to this pristine portrait
This mosaic of moving paint, that was yet to be painted
Enclosed on an infinite canvass
As the years started to accumulate, I dealt with gray areas
I learned the stagnancy in death, the beauty in brilliance,
The frustration induced by algebra—that of which I have not quite gotten over
I failed. On multiple occasions.
I could not, for the life of me, understand how people were so remarkable
The act of attempting while everyone withdrew empowered me
I learned the boundaries of comedy
My English teacher angered me and my history teacher believed in me
I found glamour in Dan Brown, as I stopped believing in the tooth fairy
It was all winking away with stars in the firmament
I detested the Saints, and Winston Churchill was a phony
Mediocrity irritated me, but I felt laced with it to the core
I still sought out growing up,
Holding on to the fact that things would be different when I was grown
I would be older, I would be brilliant
I would burn hearts with a sense of wonder
My thoughts would be remarkable, swaying the pillars of sand the world lays upon
One day—I thought—one day, I will be finished growing
I will reach my summit
I will reside with people like Edison and Lincoln—who also turned out to be phonies
I was living vicariously through the artwork of which I adored so intensely
Now, I am about to be an adult
Months away from it, in fact
The intrinsic principles of life laugh at me,
Reminding me that I will never be skilled at algebra, no matter how hard I try (and sometimes cry)
I still fail. A lot.
I ask for help too. That’s okay.
I carry pepper spray through dark parking lots and go to the movies alone
I’m stuck between serving myself and serving others
I look at the boxes I prearranged for myself as a child
At first, I wanted to be beautiful and just that
Then, brilliant and nothing less
However—cautiously—I’ve allowed myself to notice
That as I’m growing, the road is bending with me
I know the power in being flexible,
The power in reshaping dreams and inherent beliefs,
In solving goals, not just trusting in them
I am not a two dimensional portrait of the perfect, docile Victorian Woman
I cannot solve our Nation’s flaws (nor basic Trigonometric functions)
I will never be a Valedictorian, or a freaky genius
I will never live up to the person my former self invented, the distant character I formed with clay
And dusted with the predisposed idea of happiness
I will continue to fail, over and over
I will always be changing
Paradoxically, change will be the only constant I am familiar with
I don’t know what I will become
Or what I want to be, or what I want to achieve, so stop asking
Lord, we know what we are, but not what we may be
This over everything: growing never ends
Gina Arndt is from the South-West Suburbs of Chicago and has been storytelling as long as she has known how to write. She is a freshman at DePaul University and a Criminology and English double major. Her hobbies include composing and playing guitar, singing, writing, and participating in theatre.