Who Told You That You Were Naked?
You shouldn’t be ashamed of growing up.
I do this thing every few years where I scrounge the internet (of what I can control) to see if any horribly cringeworthy artifacts of my tweendom remain. I’ve gotten rid of almost everything and saved everything I needed to.
I’ve made amends with most of that, though. Nothing will be as cringy as me reviewing hentai. And trying to start a damn meme page on Facebook when that was cool. God, I’ve come a long way from that. I am forever thankful for that.
But even now, I want to smack myself when I see how I phrased something not even a week ago.
I’ve already accepted not being cool. I think that’s Step One™ to living with any kind of self-esteem shit for a lot of people.
(Accepting that you’re not cool or you’re not anything of note naturally is a better alternative than actively hating yourself, my teachers helped me understand that.)
But I guess now it’s more that I should be ashamed that I wasn’t that smart already. Smart enough to not phrase something a certain way or react a certain way. I’m not a child anymore in the eyes of most. But I guess I feel silly being self-aware but also not being self-aware enough to stop the little blunders and stumbles I’ve made, make, and will to make. It feels wasted on me. It’s sort of a paradox.
I wonder if our ancestors knew we’d struggle with our blessing/curse of conscience and made the deal anyway. But I know this pain and the ability to feel it is better than being docile. I wonder if they knew that too, or if they even understood anything about the deal they were making.