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Illustration by Alex Siklos
I can’t remember the last time I used a marker. A plain, ordinary, childish marker. They used to mean the world to me, but now I’m 18 years old and I guess markers don’t mean much any more.
It’s not the marker itself that bothered me, it’s the fact that I grew up without even realizing it.
How did I let this happen? I must have missed the cue, the big sign before the next stop saying “ADULTHOOD THIS WAY, LEAVE YOUR MARKERS BEHIND.” I’m not sure when it happened, I wish I had though. I would have taken the time to appreciate the last fleeting moments of my childhood more than I did, really cherished them, done all the things I had wanted to do but now felt too old to. I would have mourned in the moment – not now, not after it’s gone and forever out of reach. I want to go back, but I can’t.
Some people might say that I just turned 18, that I’m still young and that I’m still youthful and energetic, that I have no clue what’s coming. Which is true, I might not fully understand or be a tried and true adult yet, but I’m definitely not a kid. I’m not allowed to go trick or treating, jump on a bouncy castle, carousels are beneath me, beaches are for tanning not for making sandcastles or digging moats, school is for memorizing useless facts and not for building connections or being creative, and success is measured in how many zero’s I have in my paycheque. If I do something that makes me happy, I’m told to grow up, if I’m focusing too hard on my future, I’m told to enjoy my youth. But how am I supposed to enjoy my youth when I’ve been told I can’t do any of the simple things any more?
Maybe high school is when it started, when I traded markers, spontaneity and certain aspects of my childhood for planners and to-do lists. I started high school with a plan: work as hard as I can to achieve my goals, I have to be perfect to succeed, there’s no time for anything else. I had been told my whole life that these are the years that count, that this is where I need to be perfect. This meant not wasting my time on the small things. Postsecondary institutions and organizations meant to help aspiring high school students preached that no school would want you if your grades weren’t good enough and if you didn’t have a balanced list of extracurricular activities. I’ve come to find that this was a mistake, and that I’ve missed out on years and years of memories because I was so focused on achieving perfection.
I regret this because it’s the small things that most people remember; the time you and your friend played hooky to take the GO Train up to Toronto just for fun, wasting the rest of lunch break hanging out in your car, making inside jokes with anyone and everyone, the football game you went to in late October even though your team sucked, half-priced appetizers after 9 p.m., laughing, smiling, being content. Nobody remembers the math tests they took, they remember the cramming with friends in the library the day before. The principles learned in classes are forgotten a couple weeks after they’re taught, but the memories created within the class last forever. I am sorry to say I don’t remember how to use the math mnemonic SohCahToa, or the ins and outs of the periodic table, but I do remember all the small memories I made along the way.
This newfound understanding came this time last year, when I was finishing Grade 11. School was just ending, and my life had just turned upside down. I had been too wrapped up in the perfection of it all to simply enjoy being happy.
It was perfect timing. I spent that summer and this past year creating memories and enjoying the little things. I’ve switched my mindset from craving perfection to craving joy and happiness. And it has made me so much lighter.
So now, all I want to do is stay young forever – in spirit. And so even if I’m laughed at, told to grow up, or to stick to the perfect plan my family and educators want for me, I’m going to take that trip … just because, I’ll splurge on that ice cream cone because I want to, and I’ll spend an entire day making the best sandcastle ever, if that’s what’s going to make me happy.
Life’s too short to not be able to remember the last time you used a marker.
Catharine Boitor lives in Port Colborne, Ont.
