{8 year old self project};

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it happens. we all do it. we get further and further away from our glue-eating selves.

the version of us who would stick up to their bullies if they ripped your penguin costume (true story. i hit the chump with my pencil, repeatedly). who dreamed of living in houses with trampoline floors. who thought mastering her barbie veterinarian computer game and watching “emergency vets” was equivalent to a college degree. who couldn’t be held back from jumping into puddles. skating down steep hills with almost definite skinned knees in sight. sending complicated, colorful to the point-of-inducing-seizures love notes with no shame lingering within the composition notebook pages.

and i’m glad i am 20.9 years old. i get to run around the city past my bedtime. sleep in a full sized bed with as many pillows as i want. blast my music. go to concerts by my self. know how to put on mascara correctly (at least, i think so?) boys no longer have cooties. coffee tastes good to me, instead of black sludge my dad would always put in his thermos before heading out for the day. i’ve thankfully grown out of my phase of putting ranch dressing on everything, but i still miss the vestiges of my 8 year old self. in a way, i feel like she was the most authentic me. in a way, i still feel like i have clutched little pieces of that little girl’s spunk in my hand, even at 20.9 years old. i mean, i still adamantly wear dresses over my pants. if that doesn’t show that i am still 8 years old, i don’t know what will.

thus, my eight year old self project. these will be little tasks i think the 8 year old girl that still lives in me would be proud of. i mean, what’s the point of the freedom of adulthood if i can’t live out the dreams of a wee little mackenzie?

that means taking those ballet classes. and going to a place that has trampoline floors (more places than you might expect!) go ice-skating all the time. send a love letter, or three. sing in public. and volunteering with an animal shelter, so my obsession to animal planet was not done in vain. go see chincoteague island and the cherry blossoms.

and i encourage you all to do the same. i think we owe it to the eight year old little girls we once were, don’t you? what did your eight year old self want to do more than anything?

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5 thoughts on “{8 year old self project};

  1. Ah, this makes me heart ache. Combine this with Anna’s post on childhood, and I’m 7 years old again.

    And oddly, I think I know the place with the trampoline floors…

    How sad that I can’t quite remember what my 8 year old self wanted to do…mostly, I think she wanted to sit in a tree and read. Oh yes, and make the journey from the second floor to the first floor through the laundry chute…almost made it, once.

  2. I’m totally in on this project. It’s so right up my alley!!

    Can me, you, and Clair go to the place with trampoline floors?! Maybe on our second date??! I would die a happy lady after that.

    My 8 year old self would play dress-up like she was in Little House on the Praire. Man did I ever with I had a horse and buggy and lived in a log cabin. I would also be doing endless cartwheels on green summer grass. I tried to do a back spring once, but that definitely didn’t work. Ouch.

    Anyways, count me in! I’ll keep you updated on how my project is going!

    LOVE this.

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