As a child, visiting my grandparents’ house in rural Mississippi was one of the highlights of my summers. I know rural Mississippi isn’t everyone’s idea of a great vacation, but for me, it was magical. Mississippi was an entirely different world than the one I knew back home in Scottsdale, Arizona. At my grandparents’ house, there was the lovely scent of cedar that permeated the old house and left my clothes smelling like the place I loved so much, photos of various family members arranged above the fireplace, and old yet familiar music. The vividly green trees and grass were a foreign sight to my young eyes, as I was used to seeing the desert’s shades of dusty brown. Even the grocery store in that town seemed to be special.
Seeing my family was a special treat not meant to be taken lightly. Every opportunity to venture outside and feed the horses, listen to Papaw play guitar or banjo with his expert fingers, and help Mamaw in the kitchen was precious. My uncles let my younger brother and I play video games and ate Pop-Tarts with us, which simply did not happen in regular life. This was not regular life; this was a time of pure wonder. I anticipated these visits for weeks, and cried when it was time to leave.
But somewhere along the way, I grew up. I began to see things in that small town through different eyes. The harsh reality was that the place was not, in fact, magical. Things change, from rearranging the furniture, to getting rid of old toys, to visiting Papaw’s grave instead of his music studio. All of it seemed to happen in the blink of an eye and it left me confused. What did these changes mean? Had I officially, irrevocably lost the innocence of childhood? I felt like I was trying desperately to revisit all my favorite hiding places in that house, only to find I couldn’t fit in them anymore. It made me sad and frustrated to know that I would never be able to experience that place as I once had, and I mourned the end of the childlike wonder and enchantment.
After a short period of grief, I understood that growing up didn’t mean I could no longer enjoy the place I once loved. It was a physical and emotional manifestation of the fact that change is inevitable, and it’s up to me to make new memories and find beauty at this time in my life instead of clinging to the past. As Stevie Nick sang in the Fleetwood Mac song, Landslide:
“Well I’ve been afraid of changing ‘cause I’ve built my life around you. But time makes you bolder, children get older, I’m getting older too.”
It’s important to cherish memories of youth. It’s equally important to know change will come, whether or not you’re ready for it. For me, it was scary to realize how leaving my childhood behind was a significant and permanent, if not abrupt transformation. Nevertheless, here I am: a young adult. I plan on living these years to the fullest. Soon, I’ll be going back to Mississippi to visit my family, and I love my family more than words can ever describe. I know it won’t be the same as it used to be, but I’m ready to create new memories as a young woman instead of a child. I will be bold and face this new chapter of my life with confidence and wisdom, and I’ll always remember the lessons I learned as a child in that town in Mississippi.
