Truly Happy
I haven’t felt free like that even again. I’m not even free in my own dreams. I’m always dreaming of my old house, and not the one I have now lived in for years. I have happy moments though, of course, but never ones that make me free. I so wish that I could have that feeling again, and rewind time like I rewind the reel in my head. I wish I had nothing to worry about besides getting home before dark.
I always loved the summer. The days were so long that I could play kickball outside till eight, and then if I was lucky enough, I could play ‘Ghost in the Graveyard’ with the neighborhood kids. But that was then. Oh, how I wish I could do that today. Yet instead of feeling the warmth of summer, I must feel the warmth of the sun only as it pours in from the aged window of a classroom.
Maybe this sentimentality is the cause of my detest towards ‘growing up’. Yes, I get older, but no, I do not ‘grow up’. I will forever want to be a truly happy 10 year old, and I will continue to feel that way until I find something to cause me to be a truly happy 21 year old. I will not grow up; not because I won’t, but because I can’t. My heart is not in it.
My future doesn’t contain flowing hair, green grass, or slow motion sun-kisses. I can’t imagine myself being happy in that lacking life. Life after 10 has been ‘work’, and it will continue to be, until I am at least 60. I have purposely tried to slow down this process of growing up, yet it seems awfully persistent. I am currently in college, learning to be a psychologist. Well, not actually learning, but reading books that tell me things which I already knew. The only difference being that the book has given them a name.
I find these things, naturally, very interesting, but I could care less about proving that to a professor. I am un-motivated. I simply don’t want to study or take tests. I don’t want to leave behind my idea of being truly happy inside a bubble on my Scantron. I don’t want to grow up, and its not that I’m scared of working myself into robotic existentialism, but its that I’m scared I won’t come out if it.
If there’s nothing to be truly happy about in my future, then I’m not going to rush into it. Yes, I want to do well in college. In fact, I have day dreams of my name inked in magazine pages, sent across sound waves through a TV box, and leaving the mouths of the latest and most idolized. But to get there, I need more than a memory on a reel. I need my ‘truly happy’, and I need it very soon.
I always loved the summer. The days were so long that I could play kickball outside till eight, and then if I was lucky enough, I could play ‘Ghost in the Graveyard’ with the neighborhood kids. But that was then. Oh, how I wish I could do that today. Yet instead of feeling the warmth of summer, I must feel the warmth of the sun only as it pours in from the aged window of a classroom.
Maybe this sentimentality is the cause of my detest towards ‘growing up’. Yes, I get older, but no, I do not ‘grow up’. I will forever want to be a truly happy 10 year old, and I will continue to feel that way until I find something to cause me to be a truly happy 21 year old. I will not grow up; not because I won’t, but because I can’t. My heart is not in it.
My future doesn’t contain flowing hair, green grass, or slow motion sun-kisses. I can’t imagine myself being happy in that lacking life. Life after 10 has been ‘work’, and it will continue to be, until I am at least 60. I have purposely tried to slow down this process of growing up, yet it seems awfully persistent. I am currently in college, learning to be a psychologist. Well, not actually learning, but reading books that tell me things which I already knew. The only difference being that the book has given them a name.
I find these things, naturally, very interesting, but I could care less about proving that to a professor. I am un-motivated. I simply don’t want to study or take tests. I don’t want to leave behind my idea of being truly happy inside a bubble on my Scantron. I don’t want to grow up, and its not that I’m scared of working myself into robotic existentialism, but its that I’m scared I won’t come out if it.
If there’s nothing to be truly happy about in my future, then I’m not going to rush into it. Yes, I want to do well in college. In fact, I have day dreams of my name inked in magazine pages, sent across sound waves through a TV box, and leaving the mouths of the latest and most idolized. But to get there, I need more than a memory on a reel. I need my ‘truly happy’, and I need it very soon.