grown-up observations

most mornings, if I leave for the office on time, I am witness to a neighborhood full of kids walking to the pretty brick elementary school in the center of my neighborhood. each of these mornings I am struck with a bit of envy for their simpler lives.

my mind wanders back to my days spent walking the six blocks to my elementary school with my brother and a random assortment of friends. I get a laugh when the older ones are walking with parents, because I just don't get the over-protective behavior displayed by parents of late. I get a bigger laugh out of their backpacks, bigger than they are, and the differing levels of excitement/dread/fear on their faces.

I don't remember not wanting to go to school when I was that young. I enjoyed reading and writing and spelling and coloring and all of it so much that, coupled with the socialization with my small group of friends, each day seemed pretty excting. while I do remember not wanting to do the homework, I generally remember being happy to be there. I picture myself in each little dark-haired girl I see walking by, and wonder if adults driving past me as a kid could tell that I was quietly happy, in my own world, on my way to a favorite place.

fifth grade is when the look of dread settled on my face. I was a bit of a wreck, actually. I stopped doing my homework and stopped wanting to go to school in general.

at one point that year I learned to forge my mom's signature so that I could hand in late homework assignments and would skip recess to work on extra credit projects for my teacher to make up for it. I had a group of friends to play with on recess when I did go, and I enjoyed art class and sometimes gym. the only time I was happy sitting through regular class was when we were creating things with our hands or reading. but generally, I spent quite a bit of time staring out the large windows at the younger kids on recess or gym classes, wishing I was out there.

sometimes I think I was a pretty normal kid, that this sort of ick settles over all kids around the age of ten or eleven. sometimes I wonder if I wasn't just a little too weird for my own good, that I'd had a hard time adjusting to a new school and socializing. and sometimes I wonder if I was just experiencing my first dip in a lifetime of mild dysthymia, but one can never be sure.

throughout this rough year, I remember regularly thinking that I envied my mother for being an adult, for working in a tall building with high windows and mazes of cubicles, for wearing nice grown-up clothes, and for not having to be in school anymore. I revisited this feeling - this thought that being an adult was simple, because there was no homework, there were no teachers, and you got paid! - throughout the rest of my schooling, all the way up through grad school. I spent many a night holed up in my bedroom in tempe writing papers and resenting my roommates for having nothing better to do but watch tivo, get drunk, slam doors, and laugh.

if added up, I'm sure I've spent days of my life wishing I were an adult working in an office.

which is ironic, seeing that for the better part of two years - the time I've worked in a "typical" office setting, wearing business casual clothes and yearning for a window to gaze out of - I have spent numerous stolen moments wishing I were outside walking to school or laughing with my friends.

it makes me wonder what I missed by not being fully present all those years, and if I'm missing anything by not being fully present now.

the only conclusion I have so far is: I miss art class.