"Born originals, how comes it to pass that we die copies?"
Once upon a time.
Once upon a time, I was a little tomboy who wore a Larry Bird jersey to my fifth grade class every time the Celtics had a home game.
Once upon a time, I played the trumpet in an all-boys jazz band and soccer on an all-boys soccer team.
Once upon a time, I made little earrings out of plastic airplanes.
Once upon a time, I asked questions like: What is self?
Once upon a time, I ate mayonnaise and white bread sandwiches and composed songs about Kareem Abdul Jabbar's bald head.
Once upon a time, I was an original, wacky thing.
Today I am a thirty-something quasi-bottled blonde. A wife and mother who wears black yoga pants and buys toys and organic produce and stresses about sleep and safety and baby weight.
Today I go on "date night" with Husband and love manicures and pedicures and when my kitchen is clean.
Today I long for the quintessential things: health and happiness. For them. For me.
Today I bemoan the passage of time, how it tricks me and tames me, of how fast it flies.
Today, I am in some ways, so many ways, a copy.
How did this happen?
Do you agree with the quote above, that we lose our originality as we grow older? Is this just part of growing up or does it say something sinister about conformity? How do you retain some modicum of originality in your adult life?