[Quite possibly admiring my own reflection mid-photo in a Mara Hoffman caftan + Sam Edelman booties.]
While today might arguably have been my last actual summer day (looming job obligations, 73 degrees, sun, and a bathing suit top), the actual end of summer was a couple of weeks ago. So says the calendar. And I milked it. At the pool. Under an assumed alias.
I wrote some train of thought b.s. that day on the back of a water-logged checkbook (weird I had one with me), marinating on why I don’t have as many friends as other girls do, if I tend to expect too much from people, why I opted out of sorority life without a backward glance, and thus the mirrored lines of girls in matching dresses on either side of me on my wedding day. The concept eludes me, as I tend to solely seek out some consistent, explicit candor—a realness in respect to the absurdity of life and ourselves—in the people I want to be close with, and I can’t muster the energy for those who won’t lay their cards down this way. A fault, for sure, but born of a discretion I won’t soon surrender.
I was beginning to trace it back to earlier days when I grew up here in RVA (with undiagnosed/blissfully-unaware-of anxiety, which I’m sure is why my friends said I was “too serious”) but couldn’t really criticize my lack of discernable posse with my personal preferences. So… I like to watch people and write about them, rather than phony about with them.
This might explain why all of my ex-boyfriends are now my favorite pen pals.
Just as I was starting to feel sort of sorry for myself, my attention was diverted to a group of boys showing off around the high dive.
A scrawny blonde kid was sitting on the edge of the pool surrounded by friends, some in the water, some padding around the diving board. They seemed to look to him for approval.
I was intimidated myself, until I overheard him say:
“These shorts were worn by J.E.B. Stuart.” He was wearing some green plaid board shorts. I set my pen down and snorted, craning to hear more.
[Listen while you read.]
I can tell by the way you dress that you’re so refined. And by the way you talk that you’re just my kind.
His proclamation fell on dead ears. Clearly this set of Richmond yutes hadn’t yet hit the point of their education during which we worship upon our Confederate heroes.
“Hey, I said—these shorts belonged to J.E.B. Stuart!” Nothing. No response.
“Should we play categories, dude? Or sharks and minnows?” This was not the time to be boasting about proud, Southern lineages, real or imagined.
“I’m related to the great J.E.B. Stuart. Distantly.”
Man! What a little con artist! I’d like to see him in an actual pair of Confederate Army trunks, itchy and wool, jumping off the high dive with his hoop and stick. In any event, it was a trip.
I found part of what I’d written down on a gas station receipt:
I want to be a small girl again. If I could do it again, this time I wouldn’t be so afraid of what it was. I’d tell myself that being an individual—at any cost—was paramount. The hard road. Anyway, I could never get out of my own head long enough to enjoy it. Paradise of my youth resided in the moments I created for myself—the things I remember more than what was actually happening. The beauty that I extracted from my own reality..
Gardens with little bridges to nowhere. That kind of thing.
And this might explain why I wear caftans.
Am I the only one who (most of the time) feels like a 10 year old in a 30 year old’s body? Secretly hoping that never changes.
See you from San Diego.
-Carey
I mostly lurk on your blog. I think I’ve posted a few times, but I must tell you I identify 100% with your post today – from the “too serious” comments to not having girl friends. I too wish I wouldn’t have spent most of my time growing up in my head and could have owned that I was different – quiet, introspective and observant – instead of running home crying every time someone asked why I wasn’t voted Miss Talkative or why I read so much AND actually enjoyed it.
I think part of it now is that people have these expectations when they first meet you based on what you look like, how you dress. I guess I confuse people, and they don’t like feeling that way and being wrong. Thus, they seek out someone that is easier to figure out. And, these days, that is just fine with me. It’s rare to be someone that is selective in the company you keep. I have friends that keep an entourage around them that sparks more drama than I can handle. I have no time for drama and most girls live for the drama (my mother included). I live for my three furkids. 🙂
It’s actually really comforting to know that someone else feels the same way. Thanks for posting.
Carey (and Jenn!) thank you for posting! I have felt that way for as long as I’ve known myself- stuck in my head, enjoying the stolen moments no one else could know. People-watching has always been the favorite past-time. I’ve wanted to figure out an art installation using just the unheard lines overheard in conversation (or bragging poolside). Funny though, I’ve always felt 30 in a 10 year old’s body.
Good luck in the next several months. If lonely or in doubt, there are always tourists to watch.
Carey, I also identify with what you wrote. Always the shy girl, I had a few good girlfriends, but as an adult it’s always more difficult for me to make friends. I admire and envy my sister, who has always found it so easy to make friends. Not so much for me. I go to wine night with some lovely women once every month or so, and always ALWAYS feel like the nerd (STILL – at 42). Always feel like I don’t quite measure up. And what you said about feeling 30 in a 10 year old’s body, I OFTEN wonder if my own father feels 10 in a 72 year old’s body, because I have forever felt that way.
Like Jenn said – it’s always comforting to know that I’m not the only one who feels this way.
Hugs,
Shannan
it is perhaps why i found myself reading your blog.
loneliness and teetering on dreams – that must have its place too, and knowing others do as well (even at a distance, or maybe especially) is a kindness.
Carrie, Your are not alone in your solitude. I have a few friends, but chose the few I have and cherish them. I was a sorority chicky, but it never really fit. I absolutely bounce to the beat of a different drummer, but it’s OK, it’s what makes the world go ’round. BTW, I am 12 in a 40 year old body.
I’m with ya Carey… a 10 year old in a 33 year old body. Isn’t 33 supposed to be the age of intellectual peakery or some such nonsense? I love reading your musings because you seem to have the ability to put some of the random ramblings in my head into coherent words with a grace and insight that I simply can’t muster. I have a generously sized posse of lady friends who are all kinds of awesome. And yet on my low days the 10 year old girl still trapped in a gossipy schoolyard can’t shake the feeling that my beloved friends secretly hate me. So even when you got ’em, sometimes you feel like you don’t deserve ’em.
is this an aquarius thing? i’ve struggled all my life with what you’re talking about…i think…as you’re often saying things that i feel, but could never put into words the way you do…anyway…i’ve always been the more serious out of my friends, maybe even uptight? no, that’s not it. i don’t feel uptight. i just feel like watching…observing…taking it all in. wondering. thinking. making up situations in my head. i’m way too deep into myself. and quite honestly, i find many to be fake, pretending to be something they are not…and i just cannot deal. even those i’ve deemed closest to me, have disappointed me…i do expect a little too much. which you touched upon, as well. i’ve learned that it’s okay not to have a fucking shit ton of friends in my life. for what? to tell the same stories to over and over again? i like to share myself with a few good ones. people who love me for who i am. who don’t judge as harshly. who understand me when i need my space. it goes much deeper than this, but i should stop now. you get it. i think.
thanks for always being an inspiration.
and damn do you look hot in that dress.
speechless. Paide, you’re amazing. All these comments are f**king amazing! I mean, thanks for reminding me what I had a hunch about anyway: it’s ok to do/be/feel whatever it is you do/are/feel. Because you just said it how I COULDn’t put into words. I guess… for someone who is as non-competitive as I am, I look at most situations as a competition, and just opt out of competing. This is one where I need to just say, Shit. Lay down the armor. It’s not a battle, and like most other weird biological things in life, balance isn’t something we create, it’s something we notice.
xx
erm. PAIGE, not paide. which sounds like a fancy olde English way of saying “did buy”. Ha.
ps. i’m 13 in a 70 year old’s body. still a bit shy and awkward…a little unsure of myself, yet possessing an old soul that most people never take the time to know.
I’m definitely a 12 year old in a 30 year old’s body. I prefer laughter to silence, jumping to walking, new versus old, etc., etc.
I liked this post a lot, but couldn’t help to wonder – how is this possible?
A free spirit with as much funk as me, must have people lining up around the block to see her. Perhaps people are intimidated by your spirit?
Sometimes I can’t tell…. 5 year old in a 26yo body? 70 year old in a 26 yo body?
I think I bounce between the two.
Always about keeping the balance.
First… superficially, the look on you is ridiculous, ridiculously marvelous I tell you!
Second… that boy…. I would pick him up, put him in my pocket, and then flip off his friends.
Lastly, I’ve too been a few TRUE girlfriends (and too many, perhaps, surface friends) gal. Its best that way. Be you, be true, grow as you please and those that are genuine give you a hand when needed without a judging word.
Lots of love to you Carrie.
x
Off to Philly Tues! Eeeks.
Amy
You look totally bangarang. Btw, I’m bringing back bangarang. Enjoy.
i can truly say that i am definately a 16 year old in a 55 year old body! i agree with everything you wrote about in this article, and i love the caftan style of dress. it is so easy to wear with anything you like underneath, from a lacy blouse to a yellow polo neck jumper (my favourite)! it allows us the freedom that we crave, and allows us to be creative with our layering. it is suitable for every season of the year, and as i sew my own, the range of materials to use are infinite. keep up the good work and i love your website3.
love this website