The girl who grew into me
One thing I contemplate quite often is the stages of my life - the little girl, the teenage me, the young wife, the mother... The young child Colleen is a particular wonder to me. As children we are so true and close to the essence of who we really are. I feel part of my growth and learning has been to rediscover and learn from the girl who grew into me. I've had several aha moments around her and have written about her often in my journals.
I wrote this about a year ago. I have a habit of driving down to the beach to sit and meditate or contemplate when feel like I need to center myself - to reconnect. I've always been a dreamer - my mom would aptly call me "Colly Wally Doodle all the Day". I'll take that as a complement...
Across the Cove
My Childhood home sits perched up on the cliff, just across the cove from where I sit now, at Plymouth’s Long beach. The view is slightly different from here, but the smell of salt and seaweed and the sound of the waves rolling and the seabirds screeching takes me back.
The smaller, younger me spent countless hours there, across the cove - dreaming, sitting, smelling, listening. I can see her. Fair skin, freckled nose, skinned knees. She dreams of horses and rabbits and birds, and how she’ll rescue them – they’ll be her friends. She’ll talk to them like Dr. Doolittle. That’s her favorite movie. One day she’ll ride in a great pink sea snail across this cove. What’s out there, she wonders?
She sits and sketches her dreams on thin gray paper. She never questions her dreams or their realness. She never doubts her sketches are anything less than glorious.
She skips across the rocky shore with natural ease and grace, unafraid to fall. She spies sea glass and driftwood and horseshoe crabs and stands in the cold Atlantic water. She likes the chill – it makes her ankles ache in a good and familiar way. She’s all alone down here - no one and nothing but her dreams and the sounds and the sights and the smells…
She makes me smile. Her childish sweetness is so raw and untouched. My heart feels a slight stab and tears come knowing she’ll spend some time asleep to her dreams. She’s so full of hope and love. I love her.
When did her dreams become muddy with self-doubt? How could such a beautiful soul be wrangled, be boxed? When did she decide it was smart to conform? Did she notice as her dreams started to slip away? When did she allow them to be bought by another?
Can I nurture this young one? Can I help her to remember? Can she help me to remember?
One day she’ll wake up and skip and sketch and dream again.
