There is something beautiful about youth. The kind of beauty you don't acknowledge, or realize. There is this inherent doubt that it will never be good enough anyway, no matter what. Literature describes it as an amazing flower still a bud. Which is actually a very appropriate description: Regardless of their baggage and background they have not yet reached the full potential of all the facets they hold as a person.Some say: "I have seen it all. There is nothing you can say or show me I haven't heard or seen before". Usually, they have not yet seen, felt, experienced or heard the finer things in life. They think about life as tough, and the world is a rough place to hang out.
I am grateful I will never be a teenager again. It is a lot of work to be young. Young people are so opiniated; eager to share their headstrong knowledge and logic. They oppose, argue, negotiate... especially negotiate. EVERYTHING is up for negotiation, they think. And most of us adults fall into the trap and actually participate and play along.
Young people stretch the borders. They seek borders to be guided, only to find us, the adults, just as bewildered.
They want to be protected, often, to my surprise, from themselves. They want us, the adults, to carry the responsebility and hold the right answers.
They are conserned and worry about the future, they try to figure out their values and react to unfairness, but most of all they worry about coming too short. Demands are too many and often too much since noone really prepared them for the expectations they would face later in life.
I know I spent a lot of my young years being insecure. When I had the chance to be wild and vast and free, I found myself wondering, almost at a halt, in a crossroad trying to figure out what direction I should choose. My insecurity so overwhelming it battled my courageous attempt to be a person with values I could be proud of.I felt like an ugly duckling, knowing I would always stay an ugly outsider, and never be a swan.
I have pictures. Pictures from school: Early 80s and they all wear something dark blue and have a really straight haircut... I am wearing a red jacket, totally out of fashion. And I have shaggy hair pointing in all directions. And I am the only one smiling. Back then I felt it hard to stand out; to be the one always different. Today I look at the picture and see: in spite of everything, I had a beautiful smile.
Being young is brutal. You manage, fix, cope and master; friends fail and let you down. Love passes just as easilly as it occured. Parents and society are pushing and pulling in all directions, not allowing time to take a breath and think things over... you are just carried on, not really following the flow, just unable to fight it.
The bud will bloom and turn into a beautiful flower, not always a rose, not even a sunflower or a tulip, but ever so beautiful in its imperfection.
Maybe not a perfect adult, but perfect for someone.
