Free and Unencumbered

Gwyneth Atkinson remembers her distaste for growing up and her longing to live a simple, joyous life, full of adventure. 

I never had much interest in growing up. As a way of being, it seemed lofty, tense, and brutal. As an adult now, I can say that it very much can be, but I acquiesce that there is more exhilaration in navigating your possibilities than I thought there would be. When I was nine years old, I realized I would not be a child forever. I wouldn’t be so blithely loved and carefree for all time. And so, in child-like fashion, I threw a fit. Unfortunate, I know, to waste my energy crying out against the injustice of inevitability and the choices time takes away from you. However, was I to be excited for independence when my childhood had been the prospect of idyllic sun, snow, and adventure? I spent nearly every day with friends: walking and playing in creeks, fields, and backyards. My childhood was dashed with the gift of surprise snow days, staying home with warm hot chocolate, and sledding on the streets at midnight. For every full and exciting day at school, there was a night when I read books until I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I am lucky enough to say that when I came home, everyone was happy to see each other at the end of the day. I felt the love that surrounded my life. It’s not as though I had never been introduced to struggle – my family had their own unique challenges, but I still had the blessing only children do – feeling sharp emotions that rage fast and quiet soon. 

Plus, when you’re raised to see accidents as adventures, your life becomes an imaginative and brilliant game, one I most certainly did not want to end. But my wishes were futile. This time and this life, I had realized at nine years old, would be taken from me regardless of how I yearned for more of it. Why in the world would I have wanted to move away from that warm family and my satisfying life?

The Colorado Flatirons. Photo via The Mountain Guides

Most adult-like things to me seemed bitter and old. Coffee, especially. I remember, though, that when my grandma first let my older sibling have a taste of coffee before me, I was so jealous. I became intrigued by the dark brown substance that smelled of roasted goodness. The smell was indeed misleading; a single sip made me cringe in disgust. I felt that way about most of what I 

saw and thought I knew about adulting: its prospect was wonderful, but the reality would be harsh. My mistake was thinking I would need to manage adult life with the capabilities and mental fortitude of my nine-year old self. For some reason, I couldn’t possibly fathom that I had any more room to mature and grow into myself (I was very self-assured). Of course I was scared to live completely alone – I wasn’t ready to! I now think back on my younger self with so much love, because that bright and wild thing was ready to face it all, even if she screamed and cried for hours about it. I left the other girls my age to their visions of one day having families and children of their own…I couldn’t understand why they would want such a cumbersome responsibility such as that. I wouldn’t let my free will be taken away as my time had. The only hope I had for my future as a child was to live a life full of adventure, free and unencumbered.