ADULTHOOD: The Great Decline from Childhood
2/15/06
I was the best me I could be at age seven.
I realized that not too long ago. I happened to be sitting near the front row at a concert by the Tiger Lillies -- the debauched, outrageous British cabaret trio - listening to their lyrics, when I started blubbering uncontrollably. Mascara was everywhere. My nose swelled up like a big pickled tomato. Giant pathetic tears dropped into my glass of merlot as the lead singer Martin Jaques sang of old toothless whores, criminals, and lowlifes of all sorts in the most gorgeous lyrical way. And in that moment it occurred to me:
We adults of the human species are some really screwed up beyond belief critters.
And I'm talking about all of us. True, we're not all giving five dollar oral sex in back alleys, or getting it for that matter; we're not all ho's and drug addicts, murderers or lecherous scoundrels. But we're all on the verge to some degree, somewhere deep down.
The sad part about this is that we don't start out this way. We start out as . . . well, kids. Somewhere around the age of 6 or 7 or 8 or 9 we have a fleeting tenure of being the coolest person we're ever gonna be. We're into things like playing and giggling. Learning new things still amazes us. We're in a state of wonder. We love the sensation of cool water on our skin when we swim. We like candy, and cookies, and grilled cheese sandwiches for the pure joy of the taste and the way they feel crunching in our teeth and oozing over our palate. We like stupid jokes and silly jokes and jokes that we've heard three hundred times before. We're able to really and truly feel proud of ourselves for doing things like passing a spelling test or winning a race or learning how to make a French braid. For me, the subject of dinosaurs was something I was passionately intrigued by, and liking to eat canned smoked oysters made me feel just about as worldly and sophisticated as Audrey Hepburn, easily. I was okay with who I was.
But this fleeting little time of life is gone before we begin the slow process of forgetting who we are and spending thousands of dollars in therapy as teenagers and adults trying to remember. It's before we become porn addicts, crack smokers, cheating spouses, tax evaders, divorced parents, angry bitter assholes that simply have no idea why we're so angry and bitter and asshole-ish. It's before we're teenage sluts or fifteen-year-old chain smokers, before we are self-conscious about how round our asses or thighs are, before we are even concerned with how to get changed in the locker room before gym class without anyone noticing that at age 12 we have enough ugly and embarrassing hair under our arms to supply twenty bald men with more than enough hair for hair transplant surgery but we're too embarrassed to ask our mothers to show us how to shave the damn stuff off.
All of that is part of the great moral and psychological decline known as "becoming a grown up." Before that fate, we are just human beings.
We are immersed with a pure form of living life that we will never quite be able to achieve ever again. It's depressing but true. Who can slurp a milkshake and really really enjoy it when they've got Chlamydia . . . or jock itch . . . or an overdue electric bill? They can't. It's just downright impossible. It's depressing but when you've come down with the Clapp, or have been served a foreclosure on your house, buttered popcorn just doesn't taste the same.
What I'm saying here isn't a new concept. It's the whole “inner child” thing. Back when I was in the first decade of my time in therapy out in LA, I was seeing someone who was into that whole “inner child” B.S. She encouraged me to carry a picture of myself around from when I was a child and talk to “her,” my “inner child,” whenever I felt stressed or anxious or like I really wanted to do something self-destructive like eat hydrogenated oil or something like that. I tried it. I had a snapshot in my purse of me in pigtails at age 5 and I would be, for example, on some gross date with some sleazy asshole and I'd pull it out in the middle of dinner and say, to the picture, “Oh, we are so NOT letting HIM get to second base later.” Pretty much every guy I dated for those six months or so thought I was crazy - and not in a sexy way.
But the worst thing about that “inner child” crap is the name “inner child.” I mean, get real. There is no inner child. Your former child-self isn't like buried somewhere inside you, somewhere beneath the cellulite and scar tissue and “I love Kenneth” tattoo on your butt. That former self, unfortunately, is gone. It's in the past. The cool dimpled smiling bright-eyed silky-haired pixie went away in the midst of picking up the dry cleaning and getting the oil changed and describing the burning sensation in your urinary tract to your gynecologist.
When I feel like I'm wallowing in the bleakness of it all, however, I go hang out with my 8 year old daughter. Her giggle reminds of my former giggle. Once in a while I even find it a little catching.
2/16/2006
Hi, Juliane! Wonderful column. I still believe in my inner child, but it's good to get a big old spoonful of nasty-tasting reality once in while.
2/16/2006
cute in the great Romanitic tradition of glorifying children. However the real kids can be nasty and lethal. Redall William Golding's "Lord of the flies", or hang with some young gangsters and bullies. Children can be incredibly cruel and honest. Socialization is a very long process and manners and consideration for others takes a lot of training and modeling of appropriate behavior, which is often lacking....
2/17/2006
You're right, and I don't mean to completely candy coat things. Come junior high I learned the full meaning of "mean," and unfortunately it was aimed at me. But I don't know, maybe even bullies and meanies idealize that pre-pubescent time of their lives. You think?
-Jacooz
3/14/2006
I actually feel that right now, today, I am the coolest person I am ever going to be, and I hope I get another chance tomorrow to be so cool. At 48+, I feel as good about myself as I did at 5, 6, or 7 – maybe even better. I find joy most days, sometimes little, sometimes overwhelming. Silly things like eating a piece of chocolate, hitting a great high A, figuring out what the hell 1200(log10R/log10*2) means, or maybe even more important, realizing that I’m still cool even if I don’t understand that. My pants size doesn’t bother me, and joyfully doesn’t even occur to me most of the time!
I also hated the the “inner child” movement. It seemed so pointless, so infantile. Yet, as time went on, I found I did have to deal with the child I used to be.
Some of this probably has to do with being in my 40s, and practically in my 50s. I realize I’ll never be as young as I am today ever again. It is like my 40’s have become the youth of the second part of my life, and since I have no idea how long that is going to be, I’m going to live and love and be my best and coolest self today. I’ll tell you a secret philosophy of my life – as much as possible, I’m going to do what I love with people I love, and stop doing things I hate with people I can’t stand.
I think I wish I’d discovered this in my 30s, but maybe that wasn’t possible. All I know is that I’m sad that you feel the best is over.
Amy in Colorado
3/14/2006
Thanks for your comment, Amy.
I don't actually feel that the best is over. Just that the period of time in my life around ages 6 and 8 was kind of an ideal. Somehow, it was like I was the most uncomplicated and exuberant form of myself that I was ever going to be -- not necessarily that life or my feelings about myself have deteriorated completely ever since. It's just that life and emotion continues to get more and more complicated and convoluted. The freedom is what I can never seem to get hold of again.
Also, just for the record, I do not have any STD's. I got a number of e-mails from people who were concerned, after reading the column, that I was confessing to having a number of STD's. I just want to put your minds at rest.
-Jacooz
