Daydreams and Thought Streams

I was such a dreamer as a kid. I would get so lost in my own mind that I would unknowingly make ridiculous or bizarre facial expressions and would not realize it until after someone else had already noticed. I would eventually look up to find the spectator watching me intently, with a look of either extreme confusion or dread/repulsion – I was never quite sure which. (Granted, this usually happened as I was staring out the window of the school bus, a place where kids tended to look at each other with repulsion.) I can’t really blame them because I must have been quite a sight. Why is that weird girl over there gritting her teeth and flaring her nostrils at nothing? But those experiences forced me to attempt to reign in my thoughts and emotions and make a concerted effort to keep them hidden.

Has that stuck with me? I think so, to an extent. I think we all have hesitancies about revealing our true thoughts and feelings, out of fear that others will find us odd. But the funny thing is that as a result of turning myself into a closed book, I often wonder if I’m generally misunderstood. I’d like to say that I don’t care what other people think of me, but I really do. It bothers me if I feel like someone has the wrong idea about me. After all, I don’t know who wouldn’t want to be friends with the co-creator of this awesomeness:

*warning – shamelessly unnecessary cute kid photo ahead*

I think about the way that my daughter makes me feel, and I hope that I am that for someone. I hope I am capable of giving affection the way she does, of bringing joy and laughter to someone, of just being a soul that other souls want to be around.

I know I can’t be that for everybody. In sixth grade we took some sort of social studies quiz about relationships and interacting with others. It was just a quiz for fun, but back in the day I took all quizzes pretty seriously, and being the typical idealist I was, I marked “True” next to the statement “It is possible for everyone to like me.” It took me a long time to figure out why I got that question wrong.

Thankfully, there are many times when I look at Hannah and think, I must be doing something right. It brought tears to my eyes the first time I saw her wrap her doll in a blanket, give her a kiss, and say, “Night-night, baby.” A few days ago I asked her, “Hannah, are you Mommy’s best friend?” I don’t think she has any idea what that means, but she replied, “Yes, Mama. I wuvoo,” and gave me a hug. It just doesn’t get any better than that.