***Author’s Note: I recently discovered this piece when I was looking back on old journal entries. What struck me is that, though the feelings described in this work were most poignant to me at the time, I only rarely feel that way now. So, I thought I’d polish it up and post it here as a way to celebrate moving past one more milestone in the transition from insecure young adult to slightly more secure housewife.
I am technically not a short person. According to the doctor who did my last physical, I’m in the 50th percentile for height. Exactly average… technically. But that still means I’m shorter than half of the women around me, and most of the men. Should I desire to look people in the eyes when they are speaking to me, I have to look up. I look up to everybody, and always have.
When I was a child, looking up to somebody meant that they were older than you, more mature than you, smarter than you, able to take care of themselves while you weren’t. Now that I’m older, height doesn’t mean anything at all (except that I almost never have to heed “watch your head” signs), but I still have to look up to people.
Yesterday I saw one of my counselors from a Foundations of Leadership conference I attended before the start of classes this fall. I ran up to him and gave him a bear hug, my head barely reaching his chest. Instantly I flashed back to a moment when I was eleven or twelve, running into my father’s loving embrace, my head barely reaching his chest, too. In that brief moment, any sense of maturity and aged wisdom I’d proudly worn since becoming a legal adult vanished. What the heck was I doing in college, living on my own? Who was I to associate with such experienced and developed people?
You’d think I would have figured this adulting thing out by now. I should have answers to things! Like, “What am I eating for dinner? If I buy a gallon of milk, can I still afford the hot cocoa mix? Should I separate my laundry to save the colors, or wash it in one go to save money and detergent? What is the number for the maintenance repair man? Do I even have enough time for him to come and fix my kitchen sink?”
Most nights, I can’t even decide what to eat for dinner.
Everything seems bigger than me, smarter than me, more important than me. I still don’t know how such a small little me can handle such a big world. Maybe I just need some more time to practice and settle in. Or maybe I’ll just put on some taller shoes.
Butterflies and Other Miracles 