Carefree is the teenagers strolling the aisles of a supermarket and wandering through the parking lots of any establishment on a weekend evening.
If you're from a town as small as mine, you understand that the "spots" are usually limited to Target's, parking lots, miscellaneous drive-thrus, park benches, back seats, and the floor of your best friends' bedrooms.
I went to Target the other night and was immediately greeted by a parked car full of teens, speaker bass booming and practically shaking the cracking pavement, voices collectively belting out in song, and giggles sandwiched in between all of the above. And once I entered the store, I met another herd and watched them chase their friends through the maze of shelves as waves of laughter and overlapping conversation filled the fluorescent-lit space. It was pure nostalgia watching them, the quintessential tale of a suburban kid on a summer night, the pure joy and freedom they exuded—it felt so familiar, but so far. In that moment, I was keenly aware that I was not another young kid messing around in Target like I once was, but now one of the adults, mere collateral damage in their late-night shenanigans, a trombone murmur droning on in the background of their activities. I'm now five years outside of my teens, still very young, I know, but where I once felt very connected to and kindred to that particular phase of youth, I now feel in a way subject to it, forced to reckon with my own aging in contrast to their vibrant youth. I wondered what they thought of me. I evaluated my stance. Did I look as rigid and stiff as I felt? Did my all-black set come off lifeless and bleak? I wasn’t smiling or giggling, but did my neutral face come off as bitchy or annoyed? I darted through aisles quickly, grabbing what I needed and moving onto the next, conscious not to linger in any spot for too long. I picked at my posture, fiddled with my hands, and stared down at my phone way more than I needed to. My nostalgia and admiration for their carefree, unfiltered joy melted into a spiral of self-consciousness and insecurity.
A few weeks before my Target meltdown, I saw SZA live. She’s been one of my favorite artists since I was in high school. I always recognized myself in her music; she sang about being an outsider, the pains of getting older but not much wiser, and craving a love and acceptance that you felt didn’t belong to you. These songs were the backdrop of my teen years and validated my every longing and fear. Seeing her live felt like such a full-circle moment, and hearing the same songs that I’d only ever gotten to enjoy through my headphones took me right back to 17, and like that moment in the store, dread started to bubble up right beside the fond feeling.
There’s a song on SZA’s album CTRL called "Go Gina." Gentle bells and soft drums open the song, and SZA paints a picture of a girl who’s fed up in the relationship she’s in. She questions what’s more difficult: holding them down or holding them up. On top of it, she doesn’t really trust her friends and she’s made peace with that fact, doubting what it means to have close friends at all. But there’s no time to overthink it because she’s too busy at work with her head down just trying to become somebody.
“Them jeans, they must be uptight, mama…”
She’s uptight and mistakes her self-isolation and avoidance for productivity, protection, and freedom when really she exists inside of a cage of her own.
She’s a girl whose reality is at odds with her spirit. There’s so much talk today of healing our inner children, about realizing that the younger versions of ourselves do not pass away with the years, but their hopes, desires, and fears stay with us as we grow new hopes, desires, and fears. We have to live life in commitment to both our current self and the child in us who grew up anxiously anticipating who we’d become. I’m learning too though, where there’s an inner child, there’s a parent too, and mine is strict as hell.
In fulfilling the dreams of my inner child, I subconsciously reel in my joy and excitement, always leaving space for reality to park itself at any time. With joy and relaxation also comes an undertone of guilt and shame. Enjoyment for enjoyment's sake never feels like a good enough reason. Where the desires and dreams of my inner child lead me, my inner parent steers me away. My inner child is constantly chiming with questions my inner parent doesn't have the time or space to answer. And while the inner child may ask, "Why is she so mean?" well, it's now clear to me why—she’s totally stressed out, she feels like there’s always someone to hold down, or hold up, or let go of, but no one to hold on to. She has no choice but to prioritize responsibility.
As I sat in my car and wondered when I stopped feeling young in that same way, when I started to overthink my every move, and when I became so strict—it was obvious that it had always been a part of me. And with regard and care for the inner child also needs to come understanding and grace for the inner parent.
We have to cheer on our inner parent the same way we do our inner child, assuring them that it is okay to let loose, to be young.
This was a good read, needed this today