freshly sharpened pencils

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We all know what it's like to anticipate a new school year.  To most of us, just the mention of "September" evokes a host of of emotions: excitement, fear, hopefulness and uncertainty.  I wish the Ancients had set the start of our calendar (or the first school boards) for September instead of January.  As children we viewed the start of a new school year as a chance to (finally!) redefine who we were.  I remember several points in my life where I really wanted to pronounce my name in French (Beauchamps) rather than the pedestrian "Bee-chum" as I was loathe to accept.

With every binder, pack of pencils and new outfit that we bought in those days leading up to the first day of school, comes a promise and a hope: we can be whatever - whoever - we want to be.  I remember going through some old papers and finding a "new school year resolution" of sorts that I had penned sometime in high school.  In it, I charged myself with all sorts of lofty things - most notably "having $5 in my wallet at all times."  Looking back, it became clear, I had such a distinct vision of who I wanted to be.  I didn't have the vision to see who I was, however.

We are an aspirational species, us humans - always trying to achieve, accomplish, establish and assert who and what we are.  But as I think about it, I'm not so sure that's exactly what we are doing.  Striving for a better version of ourselves is something in which I truly believe.  But I also believe that we tend to ignore or - even worse - deny who we really are.  Google Maps needs to to know my current location in order to get me where I want to be.  Somehow, our inner navigational devices tend to skip over that important question.

True story (well, all my stories are true): I was about to enter 9th grade - the first year of high school!  It was Sunday afternoon (the day before school started) and, earlier that day, I saw someone wearing what I thought was the perfect outfit: white denim shorts with a button-down blue shirt (it was the early 90s after all!).  After a fair amount of pleading, my mother and I went out shopping on Sunday evening to find this "magical" outfit for my first day of high school.  Unfortunately, I couldn't find the right size of shorts but persisted, nevertheless.  My first day of high school was painful.  Those white shorts were so tight and uncomfortable - nevermind that they were white and I was afraid to even sit down! - that I never wore them again.  On Tuesday I wore something that I felt comfortable in.  

Isn't it time we stop trying to fit into clothes that we will never wear again?

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