Photos from a relatively rainy trip to San Francisco

Some thoughts on finding my inner child. 

Then giving the kid the keys, some self-confidence, and a lighter.

Last year, a friend of mine said, “Congratulations, you found yourself!”

At first I winced at the stereotype, but she was right. I lost myself a really long time ago, and last year I returned to who I really am.

So that said, what did I find? My best guess is my inner child. I am doing the same activities I did when I was a kid, again.

A kid, again. 

The best part, is she arrived with my optimism, curiosity, bravery, and happiness. 

During the day I interact and play with my kids and their friends.

Then once I punch out for the day, I get back to the stuff I did when I was alone as a child.

For example: when I was about ten, I started to light candles in my room and relax and daydream.

Sometimes I would quietly ask (god?) or whoever the hell was listening for things I truly desired. This ranged from having my first kiss, to a new coat from the Limited Too.

I’ve been a reasonable dreamer since the mid 90’s, I guess.

When I was angry or upset I would go outside and light something on fire.

I had no idea what I was doing, or why I was doing it, but it worked. I felt better.

I (thought I) had little control over what people were doing to me. But what I could do, was burn it, even if just symbolically.

I’d burn notes from a boy who abused me, and photos of friends who betrayed me.

I’d burn pages I journaled, because I never wrote them to keep them.

I just needed to get it out. Then at some point, I became self conscious, and I stopped.

I lost those weird ass rituals, and then I started to lose my inner peace.

I got more serious and less dreamy, all because I didn’t want to be “weird”.
 
Now being weird is my goal. 
 
Welcome back self confidence. and dancing. so much dancing.

I would sing and dance allllllllllll the time when I was a kid.

I would pretend I was Mariah Carey and Lauryn Hill.

You should have felt the electricity of those off-key performances.

The family stereo was screaming and I was having an asthma attack. It was incredible.

Then I stopped. I knew I wasn’t great at singing and dancing, and I wanted to fit in, even at the expense of my happiness. 

Everyone should dance and sing. especially by themselves. It feels so great. 

But then, Elliott was born, and I had to dance to survive.

If singing and dancing kept him content, I would perform like a clown. and I did. and he loved it.

So much, that eventually he started doing it with me. 

A human potato turned toddler brought me back to dancing and singing.

He gave me back my confidence to not give an eeeeffff, because we looked absurd, and happy.

We are so happy when we sing and dance, to this day. and hopefully forever.

Now we sing and dance as a family together.

Alex plays that aggressive screaming terrible music that he likes. Hardcore? Gargling?

Whatever, the kids love it, too. They mosh, they stage dive off the couch onto their dad.

I’m talking a flying one year old, ironically named Serena, with fists and drool in the air. 

Oh, and I collected a ton of stuff when I was a babe. Baseball cards, pogs, BEANIE BABIES, etc. 

I also was really attracted to, and enjoyed collecting arrowheads and crystals. 

I’m collecting them again with the kids.

I keep them in my pocket and knock the socks off Lexi’s best friend. We identify and talk about their super powers.

This also avoids them fighting about who loves me more, which is the most brilliant argument bait that only a 4 year old could summon.

I’m so glad my kid is already friending charming menaces.

I also still collect hot wheels. They brought back micro machines, and I was finally able to get the city bus.

I spin the wheels to calm myself down in public when I have a surprise panic attack.

They’re also hit in scenarios of unruly youths. Every kid loves a matchbox car.

Bonus: they’re bewildered that the lady sitting next to them on a flight just produced a toy car.

This throws off their train of thought. Pause, tantrum. Everyone wins.  

So here we are at the bottom of everything, including my trip to San Francisco. 

I am weird, I was weird, and I’ll never stop being weird ever again.

Thanks, inner child.