Little Child (Sharing time)

Human beings, I believe, were designed, created, to adapt to whatever the environment

and the expectations were to be.

It sounds basic, I know. So does every wide concept when simply stated; so many genius ideas are underestimated because onlookers will see the broad surface but not grasp the real implications behind said revelation.

We are very adaptable. Here is what I mean.

This feature allows us, of course, to survive. To make the most out of what is required. To fit into the mold making us productively perform.

It is amazing. It even is, perhaps, one of the greatest strengths of living beings –the ability to change, adapt, thrive in what is given to them.

It can also be a huge weakness, be it misused.

For me, it has been both.

I moved out at 18, skipping Cégep and heading to university after a school life almost exclusively at home –yes, I was one of those homeschooled kids; and it is perhaps one of the best things that has ever happened to me.

I was very sheltered and taken care of; I had access to the best learning resources, including the freedom to explore whatever topic caught my interest.

The result? The adaptation?

This child became very curious and creative. She learned to speak fluidly three languages, and the basics of a few more, including Old Greek –yes, early teenager me knew a foreign alphabet and the grammar rules of a dead language. She also started to love writing; and oh, she wrote. A lot. Poetry, journaling, novels. Thousands of pages. Most of her stories took place in invented worlds; she created plots, characters, cultures, creatures. Gave them emotions, thoughts, stories, fears and hopes.

Sewing, cooking, roaming the woods, travelling; reading my way through entire bookshelves, having thousands of projects.

Then, I got a concussion. A stupid accident. Things went downhill from there. My body had a very hard time recovering; I was always tired and weak. This got me depressed and made me feel stuck, so stuck, in my own body.

Things formerly perceived as fun or gratifying became weights. That’s where the shift took place, I think. The heaviness.

When I moved out for university, I had recovered from the concussion, but not from the shift in the mindset it left me with.

I entered adulthood as an overthinking, stressed person, too focused on responsibilities –and spending a lot of time trying to avoid them because of said stress.

My expectations of life and of myself were so high; that’s how the idealistic, imaginative girl had turned out. Misusing her gift, one could say.

I think, to pinpoint it, I could say I became overly focused on the ‘’next thing’’ all the time. I forgot how to simply live in the present.

Anything I should be doing became a weight and therefore lost its attraction. To cope to this new mindset, I turned to things I knew to be entirely useless and –that's it—pleasureless.

Scrolling for hours upon hours on social media.

Oversleeping.

Wanting to eat junk food, because, of course, keeping healthy is important.

Taking another nap; thinking I need it.

More empty cellphone time.

Watching movies. I used to dislike them because they felt too passive.

I also went to bed way too late, trying to find myself in the quietness of the night, when the voices telling me to ‘’do something useful’’ weren’t as loud.

What was it I was subconsciously trying to adapt to?

This was a way to deal with the perceived weight that I couldn’t bear. Responsibilities. School, work, homework, money, paperwork and, most of all, (self-)expectations.

Productivity? Yes, coping with its pressure, the looming shadow, involved doing the exact opposite. And coming to realize this didn’t bring more joy or relief. Oh, I tried implementing systems, routines, guidelines, rules for myself. Very diversified, imaginative, even bold goals. But it wasn't the solution. I always ended up failing. I despised myself for spending so much time achieving nothing. I also often did too much; then, I exhausted myself and fell even deeper into ‘’laziness’’.

And yet, acting lazy is not what I usually tend towards.

If I am motivated, I’ll be extremely passionate, involved and, of course, productive.

What’s the worse motivation killer?

You guessed it.

The weight.

Now, is a world without weights possible? Would it even be a good thing? I think not. Sometimes, pressure has its place. Sometimes, it is the only way something will be accomplished. And responsibilities? I would go as far as saying they are important.

I believe, thus, that it all comes down to the mindset (psychology student talking, yes) and the little things.

To choose to appreciate a moment, even if it is technically a chore, or part of a to-do list. To realize that, in most cases, you chose whatever weight you’re carrying and that there’s a reason for it. Something that matters to you. Something precious, not a burden.

And, even under constant requirements, choose to be free. Freedom is a mindset, not a situation. Don’t let your mind get caught up.

In the little things, in the little moments, find, make, something special. It is not insignificant.

And take time just to be.

Remember, you’re a human being, not a human doing.

Little child, remember who you were. No, don’t let go of everything that’s heavy; some burdens are worth it.

But stop chasing for a second. Find who you were because, chances are, under all those weighty layers of dust and the hardened persona designed to carry them, that child, fascinated and content of all the blessings given to them, is still who you are called to be.

Love,

Vannah