Right On Time: A Talk About Growing Up & Growing Down

Carolyn explores how birth, loss and life have taught her about the importance of bringing her younger self along for the ride. As her birthday approaches, transitions and aging are top of mind. Not out of fear of aging - but because there’s no hiding from any of it. Originally published in written form, Carolyn narrates experiences through teenage years, becoming a mother and the death of her father to explain how aging is a process of growing up, and also of growing down - a return to her inner child, a journey in rekindling a connection to her younger self and reparenting her each day forward. There is no such thing as too old, too late, too young or too early, we are right on time.

Transcript

My birthday is approaching. A day I've never much cared for. Not for fear of aging, But because it's just a day. The last few ones, Though, Suddenly hold a different weight. It now feels like a threshold space, Marking both my entrance into this world and my father's exit from it. Transitions and aging in general seem to be top of mind these days. There's no hiding from it, And the more I reflect and write, The more I appreciate it all. I see aging not only as growing up, But also as growing down. A return to my inner child. A journey in rekindling a connection to my younger self, And to reparenting her each day moving forward. Growing Up and Growing Down My first real job was in a restaurant at the ripe young age of 15. Food running, Plates of pasta, And refilling waters. I had also gotten my fingers black, Literally, With my paper route a couple years prior, Thanks to my mom driving me house to house on many dark days, With stacks of newspapers in the trunk. In hindsight, Having a restaurant job and a regular paycheck from 15 years old onwards was both a blessing and a curse. Some of my natural inclinations were nurtured, The desire for independence, Responsibility, And engagement with adults. Yet at the same time, I wasn't doing what most 15-year-olds were doing. I always wanted to be older. I found myself working with, And looking up to, People in their early 20s, And I wanted to be them. Old, And most of all, Free. But I wasn't at all ready for what older meant. I'm starting to see this in my 9-year-old daughter Hannah. She thinks being older is cool. Didn't we all at that age? Seems natural, Almost primal. I see it in her glances at others, In the mirror, And in whispers with her bestie. Age matters so much when we're young, So of course Hannah finds it absurd that on most days I can barely remember how old I am myself. How things change. How priorities change. Nonetheless, Back then, I did everything I could to be older. Before 16, I had already bought a car, Smoked cigarettes, Went to raves, Found myself alone with men in unfamiliar homes, Facing situations I wasn't ready for, Lied to my parents often, Cut school even more, Stopped taking photos, Writing, Skateboarding, Communicating in most ways, And disconnected from who I truly was. All to be older. But was I? I thought being older equated to freedom, That doing whatever I wanted at all costs was maturity. I believed I was free to give myself to situations, But in reality, I was giving myself away. I had no idea how to unfold into the young woman that awaited me. I drifted from crowd to crowd, Trying on jobs, Friends, Trends, Styles, Personalities, Substances that never quite fit. My late 20s included some drifting as well, But there was more purpose to that phase of discovery. At 18 years old, I distinctly remember one dark, Rainy evening in Vancouver where I was a passenger in a car trying to evade a couple of drug dealers with guns. I was high, And in shock, And also quite lucid in realizing I'm not old enough to be in a situation like this, Nor do I want to be. I'm not old enough to be here. I'm just a child. Even then, Somehow, It was all unfolding right on time. I was getting older by the day, But the little girl inside me hadn't been invited along for the ride. I hid from her through substances, But she persisted. She kicked and stomped her feet, Restless and righteous, Wanting to control, Wanting to fix, Wanting to perfect, Wanting to grow up. And I needed to be there, Right beside her, To guide her. The little girl in me was longing to be invited along for the ride. I have always been enamored with children. Their unapologetically tender, Real, Raw presence. They give it to you straight, Mirroring a situation, A personality, A nervous system with uncanny precision. Perhaps what I adore about them are parts of me that needed to be seen and loved. The more I witness little Carolyn with patience and kindness, The more I feel my own heart growing up alongside her. What I love in children is what has always needed love within me. I undoubtedly attribute my growing down to the birth of my daughter, Hannah. Welcoming her into my life was a fast track to healing my younger self. Her reactions to things seemingly small and milestones at each phase of growth still unearth emotions within me from the same age that need a good, Long look. Her entry into school at kindergarten comes to mind. The insecurities that arose around that time within me most definitely had nothing to do with being apart from her for a few hours every day. I fully trusted our strong attachment and the teacher she was blessed with that year. What surfaced, Though, Was something tender and real. Something in my own five-year-old self that didn't trust leaving behind my brother and parents to fend for themselves. A few years after Hannah's birth came the sudden death of my father. I connect to this moment often. I write and speak of its impact frequently. The grief and gratitude that followed have been incredibly insightful. I've of course grieved the loss of his friendship, But also the complexities of our relationship. The places where his parenting fell short and the mistakes I had made as a teen. At the same time, His death showed me the places where I needed to offer my younger self the forgiveness and abiding love she had always sought. So that's it. Is that it? Life and death as the greatest teachers? Understanding and awareness as a great teacher? What I know is that aging is not only a privilege, It is a gift. I'm committed to doing it with grace. I'm committed to growing up, Growing up my younger self, As the days pass, As the wrinkles deepen, As the hormones fluctuate. Yet I'm also committed to growing down, Bringing that younger self along for the ride, Showing her that we grew up in perfect timing, Right on time. There was never any need to rush, And nothing was lost as it happened. I overheard Hannah giggling with her best friend last week. Can you believe we're almost 10? She whispered. It inspires me to speak to my younger self, Deepening the friendship I share with her. Can you believe we're almost 46? Or is it 45? I'm always forgetting. Because the number doesn't matter. What does is that I'm right where I need to be. We are right where we need to be. Right on time.

Reviews

Thank you ☺️

Thank you for sharing this awareness - not having regrets of what we did in our past, learning from it and making the most of being exactly where we are meant to be now.

Right on time - no regrets / no complaints / no what ifs - just growing with time and learning / reflecting experiences! Is not it the only thing we have in control.
Beautiful session