While Sitting Alone

While sitting alone, nothing speaks louder than your own thoughts; insecurities unveil themselves, stress surrounds our minds, every imperfection fades our distinction between what we know to be true and what we can convince ourselves to belief. Reflection takes a turn for the worst as you contemplate what you should have said to them, where you wish you could have been, who you’ve always known you can trust; while sitting alone, every wrong turn can be the dead end of what seems to be our existence. While sitting alone, I cannot help but realize that I am not the only isolated soul dwelling over my past, present, and future until getting caught within a mental oblivion. Sitting at Leghorn Park, alone of course, the truth of human nature is too obvious to miss: one day, we’ll all face our common fear.

A young boy, about the age of five or six, sits upon a petite rocking horse flinging himself back and forth with every ounce of energy he possesses. His quiet giggle becomes a boisterous laugh that turns into the squealing of a hyena that could easily be heard throughout this vast jungle. Watching his long, untamed hair oscillate back and forth furiously like the pendulum of a clock that has been over wound, I cannot help but smile and chuckle internally. Just for a moment, I wish I could strap on his teeny light-up Buzz Lightyear sneakers and feel the rush of youth’s freedom flow beneath my feet. I envy his innocent view of everything that surrounds him; so many problems are disguised by his utter lack of adult knowledge. When Mommy and Daddy fight, his bedroom door is to be shut; when sexual or violent behavior is shown on television, the channel is to be changed; when important family issues are discussed in his presence, voices are to be hushed; he lives in his own fantasyland where no one gets hurt, no one feels pain, and no one is ever alone. I begin to remember the first time my bedroom door was simply left open, or when those once obscene behaviors of entertainment were nothing out of the ordinary, or even when my own voice became apart of these once adult-only conversations that I never actually asked to join. Much like myself, this young boy will become older: he’ll lose his rowdy sense of wonder, his riotous perception and imagination, his boyish ways. Sitting alone, he too will wish he had cherished this naïve persona he just left behind: why did I have to grow up?

Across from me stands a middle-aged man, wearing faded blue jeans, a worn Yankees ball cap and a coordinating grey-sleeved baseball undershirt. He casually leans against a tall, black light post that towers over the entire park, resembling the guard-like qualities this man shows over the young girl nervously perched at his side. She anxiously rocks on her heels, arms shyly placed behind her back, eyes locked on her swaying shoelaces: she is crying for someone to grab her hand and encourage her to be brave. Quickly, she runs to her father’s always-reliable side, ashamed of her timid behavior, and then buries her head into his leg. He grins down at his little girl before prying her off his knee and lifting her into his arms. Clutching her tightly, he plants seeds of comfort, wisdom, and inspiration into the fertile soil that is her brain. With his kind hand, he grips her chin and lifts her tear-stained face from his supportive shoulder, flashing a small smile at his baby girl. While today she sees him as her Superman, the honest truth is she won’t need saving forever. Though today his goal is to install the confidence in his daughter to simply get her to ask for her fair turn on the swing-set, day-by-day every little lesson will grow to build her character, and eventually shape her into a self-supported adult herself. One day he’ll be waiting for her to timidly run into his arms, but instead she’ll be courageous, bold, and mature. Until then, he puts his daughter down, her feet planted confidently on the cement path. With a gentle nudge, she stumbles then glances back at her father, flashing her toothless smile, flaunting her newly discovered bravery. Watching his daughter walk away from him, then settling on a nearby bench, he now sits alone with his thoughts: they grow up so darn fast.

As a preadolescent, stuck between the worlds of childhood and maturity, there is no greater adventure I face than that of growing up. While I am excited for what lies ahead as my wisdom increases and my independence improves, I will always walk barefoot through a creek because I want to, or cry on my mother’s shoulder because I need to, or even bake a mess of a cake with my friends because I see no reason not to. In the end, everybody is afraid of growing up because the idea of releasing the child within us is heartbreaking. Even when life becomes overwhelming, and I can’t see any light at the end of the tunnel, something within me will pick up the broken pieces and find a positive solution. I’ve decided while growing older I won’t ever forget what it was like to be small; I won’t ever let go of my youthful intuitions; I won’t ever relinquish my sprightly ways. Sitting alone, after all the anxiety has passed, I’ll look back on being young, and I’ll recall what it is like to be happily careless. I will never let go of my inner child: I will never grow up.

~Jessica