We always talk about how we want to be a little kid again.
I remember being a little kid. I was eleven. I would sit in the chatrooms on AOL, and lie about my age. I was always between 14 and 17. I always wanted to be 17. That seemed like the age to be.
One night, I was observing a chat between two older teenagers. The nineteen year old was talking about how he wished he were young again. I remember thinking to myself, “right now, I’ll never think that, but I know when I am older I will.”
Of course it came true. As a twenty-five year old, I wouldn’t mind having my sleep rudely interrupted by my mom at 6 am, being whisked out the door with a blue Conan the Barbarian lunchbox and Jansport backpack that is twice my weight and shuttled off to a full day of school with all the other kids.
They say all sorts of dirty things about nostalgia, of which I guess are true. Yet, while going through childhood once is perfectly enough, I can’t help but think that I wouldn’t mind it because–
When you’re young, you learn so much every day because–
When you’re young, everything is so new.
Discovery, discover me.