1998
One of my earliest memories is of a dream.
I’m not sure, exactly, how much of a dream it actually was.
Sometimes, when my mom talks to my sister and I about our childhood, we tend to make up key details or conversations.
The time I could have sworn a puzzle piece disappeared underneath the table, whisked away by some magic force. The time I cried underneath my sister’s high chair because I thought our dog would be taken to a farm out in the country when he died. The time I fell out of one of the trees that towered over our yard trying to look into a bird’s nest. In retrospect, all of these experiences happened a bit differently than I remember–mostly, it’s a jumbled mess, and whenever I do remember something important, it’s always in the wrong order, tangents turning into twists and turns, mapping out my thinking like a road map rather than an arrow’s curving trajectory.
I remember we had a party, once.
I’m not sure if it was a party so much as it was a gathering of friends and family.
It was dark, the moon hanging low in the sky, large and ethereal. It blocked out the stars since it was so bright, and I remember very vividly what it was like after the rain that evening. We didn’t listen to the radio. We didn’t even really talk. We didn’t trade pleasantries or even really acknowledge everyone after the initial hello. But my sister and I ran across the yard, screaming, giggling, impatient in the way children are always looking for some new curiosity to peak their interest. I stopped and looked out over the fence, staring at the vast expanse of space before me.
The moon hung in the sky, larger than I’ve ever seen it since.
It glowed.
I think the reason this (faux) memory stands out so starkly in my mind is because this was the first time I became aware of myself.
I say this because in a lot of ways, we as individuals search for who we are before we even know how to start the process. We may have an idea of what makes us happy in the moment, or who we eventually want to become. A lot of those preliminary ideas of ourselves as an adult are formed when we’re young–too young to understand the true implications of growing older, of growing up. It was hard for me, for a very long time, to envision a future for myself, let alone one where I would be happy or successful.
I was small, then.
I’m still small, now, in the grand scheme of things. Compared to the same moon that so dwarfed my small frame in the backyard of my childhood home, I was nothing in a very real sense. From a young age I knew this, and it stuck with me as I grew up– how small I was in comparison to the world around me. Compared to the universe or dwarfed by the relationships I formed as I grew into myself.
But the difference is now I’m aware of who I was.
I’m aware of who I am.
And now, I’m aware of who I still want to become.
Sam