It doesn’t matter how tough we are trauma always leaves a scar. It follows us home, it changes our lives; trauma messes everybody up. But, maybe that’s the point. All the pain and the fear and the crap; maybe going through all that is what keeps us moving forward. It’s what pushes us. Maybe we have to get a little messed up before we can step up.
- Grey’s Anatomy
It started out like any other morning should at the military housing complex in Heidelberg, Germany, where I lived while I attended the sixth grade.
However, the afternoon’s events were to be far from ordinary for this 11-year-old who wasted most of his day wondering what it would be like to kiss a young girl named Stephanie.
Stephanie was a pretty dirty-blonde (or was it a pretty-dirty blonde?) with blue eyes. She was slightly taller than me, and because I had just begun to exit my chubby stage, she was also slightly thinner than me. OK, more than slightly. In homeroom that morning our plans were cemented, and though I don’t remember how I do remember what: we were to stop somewhere after school on the walk home and “try” a French kiss.
Focusing on school the remainder of the day was nearly impossible.
I had never kissed a girl before. The thought of finally going through with it was driving me crazy. The act itself felt so … mature and adult. Was I ready for all this?
And on top of all that: Stephanie was the girl, you know, the one guys couldn’t get. She was beautiful and unreachable. She was also bossy and mean.
I tripped over myself being the nice guy for her. I’d sharpen her pencil if I got up to sharpen mine, but she expected that already. In fact, if I didn’t sharpen her pencil, I was in the doghouse. She wasn’t the nicest of girlfriends, but she was mine for an entire week. And this being my shot at a kiss, with tongue, I didn’t mind.
We didn’t have any other classes together, so after school was out we met out front for the walk home. She was exceptionally bossy that day. Maybe she was nervous too? I didn’t like that too much, I decided, but I chose to keep my opinions to myself lest I ruin the whole escapade. She was wearing blue jean shorts, white shoes and a red shirt. Her frizzy hair was crimped and seemed to stick out like a tent around her shoulders rather than resting on them.
We held hands on the 10-minute walk to our side of the complex. We walked between buildings, rather than on the main road. She was walking fast. Did she want to get it over with? I walked fast too: partly because I was anxious and partly because she was pulling me. Being rushed only added to my curiosity: Were we committing a crime of sorts? Are we going to get caught?
The apartments in the military complex had shared basements, each with laundry and designated storage spaces. We tried entering a building neither of us lived in - neutral ground, and evading parents – but it was locked. We scored on the second try, though, and we headed downstairs to the right, past the laundry and a/c units and ice machine, as far back as we could go. There were windows, the typical ones you’d see in basements: short and high up, but they lit the room decently. This was good because we could keep the lights off as to not raise suspicions from people walking by, or maybe this was good because I was terrified.
The room was strangely quiet, and neither of us spoke. We stood there, facing each other, her hands on her hips and mine in my pockets. I kept looking between the floor and her, and when our eyes met, she looked impatient. I’m pretty sure she had done this before; she was the expert. I was left floundering. How did I start? Did we talk first and it just happened? Or did we just – go for it?
“So…” I said, breaking the silence.
“Well, are you ready?” she asked in a bossy voice.
“Yes. What do I do?” I asked.
“Stick your tongue in her mouth when we are kissing,” she said, and then she walked toward me.
I stood up straighter as she closed the space between us, her hands still on her hips. She came in with her eyes closed and I was tempted to close mine, but I kept them open at least until our lips met so I can watch anything new she might try. Our lips met, finally. They were both opened slightly. Her lips were always wet - little bubbles appeared simply when she talked. I could feel the wetness of them now, up close and personal.
She had told me what to do with my tongue, so that’s what I did. Only I did it slowly – a little at a time, testing the waters; to see if she would reciprocate. She did. Then a little bit more, and I felt more of her tongue. Then I gave her the whole thing, and she did too! What consisted of only a few “swirls” of our tongues felt like years of experience, all gathered in the basement of military housing where no one knew we were.
And when it was over – just a few seconds later – I felt like I had reached some new level of maturity, of manhood.
Alas, the kiss was over and, apparently, so was our relationship. No matter – I went to school the next day with a renewed sense of place. I had done something very few of my peers had. I no longer deserved to live among the other sixth-graders, rather I was ready for a the next step: a relationship where we could French kiss all the time. I felt confident, empowered, manly.
Little did I know I wouldn’t kiss another girl for several more years.
As mentioned in my last post, I concluded the year with clear goals in mind. I was (am) determined to make 2009 the year of me. After realizing flaws in my character and witnessing (humbly enough) my occassional own lack of maturity, I decided to spend this year bettering myself. There are a number of things I need to work on, such as slowing down to “smell the roses”, not rushing into things, realizing I can’t control every situation (the ‘OCD’ in me), being more flexible, and probably the most important of the bunch, to say less but mean more.
Of course there are a few other personal things I’ll be working on, but those will remain personal :)
I’d like to continue to build upon current relationships and make new ones. And, if the universe permits, re-establish some that were lost. I’d like to start getting out more (I don’t mean partying necessarily, though that will definitely happen) and seeing new places in town. And I’d like to do something good each day that isn’t for me.
And this might come as a contrast to the last sentence, but really it’s on an entirely different plane… One of my biggest character flaws is my willingness to give to others. Basically I tend to put myself last, including feelings and emotions. I let myself get walked over by myself so that others will be happy. This feels wonderful at first, but then later I start to resent myself. Maybe it’s because I wear myself thin always trying to make others happy. Whatever the reason, myself needs to come first. If I can’t make myself happy, I can’t make anyone else happy.
(So if I come across as selfish or as an ass, forgive me, please.)
And as far as the business goes, I’m going to start focusing less on design and development, and more on information architecture and planning.
So wish me luck!
Sometimes I get to thinking about choices I’ve made when growing up. I think back when I was little and the trouble I’d given my parents. I think about situations I’ve been in requiring a tough choice in which I leaned on others for advice. I think about my future and how I’ll react when similar S
situations arise.
Being an adult means thinking for yourself. It means taking control of your situations and making the most of them. It means seeking out those things which are of most beneficial for you. It means to no longer rely on others to live your life.
Oftentimes we are presented tough situations which offer no apparent good or bad, right or wrong. We must decide for ourselves the path. These situations nobody can help with. Then there are other times when a war is waged between when we want and what we need. It is the latter that I think we find most difficult.
All to often what we desire trumps what is best; what we want outweighs what we need. The immediate positive is more appealing than the distant positive. The moment is more important than the lifetime.
It is hard to sacrifice things we care greatly about even if we know doing so will be better for us in the end. The multitude of christmas cookies my mother sent me, for example, are in no way healthy. Yet I crave them and many times more than a few. It’s hard to eat just one or two.
Or in relationships where the immediate fancy might not be best suited for long-term. And these, because of the emotional and physical attachments, are the hardest to problems to solve.
Happiness. We all desire to be happy and we all make decisions which increase that happiness. Nobody wants to live a life of incomplete happiness, even if that happiness is great. And nobody should have to.
We are all entitled to be as happy as we possibly can be. Each life is one shot at that happiness and every goal is meant to increase it. Many times women (and a few men) remain in relationships where they are not fully happy. This is not to say they are sad or unhappy, just that they are not fully happy. They, just as everyone, are entitled to seek fullfillment.
As you might know, I’m not a believer and the only faith I have is placed in two things: first in myself then not in anyone else. My life is made up of my choices, my actions, and my consequences, the result of which won’t send me to any heaven or hell rather into the ground or scattered elsewhere with the consequences of my life as a testament to my happiness and the happiness of others.
It is me; it is you who have final say of your life. Make choices which make you happy or make choices which don’t make you happy. In the end you are the only one who has to live with the choices you make. You can live happy or not.
“I have made my bed and so must I lie in it.”