To Be Fourteen

I saw a group of kids just now, they looked about fourteen. I knew how they were probably feeling by the way they walked, the way they talked: I saw exactly myself, all those years ago. And I wondered what I must look like to them now. An adult, or something close enough. Walking my dog after work, in my pajamas, going to get mail. Not something I’ll remember. But they, they were forming memories right there, and maybe years from now they’ll bring up this very day. And I bet I won’t feature in that story, because I remember being fourteen, and living so much in my own world. Did I see anyone at all back then? Did I give anyone the same musings?

I often think about how lucky I was to be mostly happy that one year of my life. I felt so sure about who I was, felt so grown, so ready for everything. And the world really was as small as my immediate surroundings, every event life-defining, every person crucial. I would not have even glanced at current-me, I wouldn’t wonder anything about her as I do now, because it didn’t matter. I had all the answers, and the ones I didn’t have felt so close and certain. Oh, to be fourteen. I wonder how stupid I’ll look now to twenty-eight-year-old me.

And even if I take off my very opaque rose-tinted glasses, I still envy them. Not very mature, to envy ignorance, but I can’t help it. It happens every time I see something that reminds me of what I used to have, that brief little window in time. And every time, the same thought crosses my mind: the world really does belong to them. And they won’t be fourteen forever, either, and so the cycle goes on. And I can’t help but feel like I’ve done all the living that’s worth in life back then. Maybe that’s just what getting older is like. Or maybe I need some healthier coping mechanisms to let go of the past and live a bit now. (But who am I kidding?)

I miss who I thought I was, I miss all that potential I assumed I had. I miss the thrill of the beginning of freedom with none of the responsibilities. I miss the simplest things: having time to see friends. Caring so much, and really, so little.

And truly, I could reach out to them. Right now, I could get home and talk to those same old friends. Friends who are working, friends getting married, friends starting families… But I have nothing to say to them. Besides how much I miss that time when we were fourteen.