“When I was a child, I thought as a child.” Remember thinking our parents had it easy? They could sleep late if they wanted to, could eat whatever they wanted, and didn’t have any worries, any pressures. We couldn’t wait to grow up.

I had a sheltered childhood. My parents had great confidence in me, and always told me I was smart and I could do anything I set out to do. I believed them. But then… what was that ‘D’ doing at the top of my science paper? Wait a minute. I ran for class Vice-President and wasn’t elected. I tried out for cheerleader and didn’t make it.

I ran home and hid in the closet. I worried. My parents couldn’t be wrong, so it must be me. I was failing them! What if they hated me because I didn’t live up to their expectations? Okay – time for damage control. Grades and studying were discussed. Studying! Who knew? I learned I had to work for what I wanted. But I still worried that the boys wouldn’t like me. Life wasn’t easy.

You’d think that there must be some magic day in your life. Some morning when you wake up and say to yourself, Finally. I’m my own person. Sorry. We find out if we sleep in, we’ll be late for work, and we’ll get fired. Oh -so that’s why the White Rabbit ran around with a watch. Eat what we want? What about blood pressure and cholesterol and ulcers and… Gee – Alice’s strange mushrooms would really upset our systems, and we won’t even talk about that tea party. 

As for being able to do what we wanted - our  bosses, editors, publishers and others hound us about work to be done and deadlines and apointments to be kept. And ever hear of the IRS? Our spouses make demands; our kids crave attention, when all we want to do is watch the football game or read a book, or write. 

And  boy, did we get that ‘not worrying’ thing wrong. College. Marriage. Parenting. Our first, second, third and current jobs.  We have to live with the decisions we make, and can’t run home and hide, or call our Dad to come and bail us out (Uh-oh. TMI.). 

Whether in our writing or in our every-day lives (which is nice when it’s the same thing), we need support groups, friends and family, mentors, organizations, or therapists. They help bounce around our ideas and find the pros and cons, hand us a parachute, pull us back from the edge of a cliff, or pat us on the back when it’s good. We look at what other writers are doing and wonder why WE can’t come up with all those ideas (is this pencil envy?). We listen to the voice of experience and wonder if we will ever get there. What’s worse is those experienced people feel the same way. Who knew?

It seems the older I get, the more advice I seek from family, friends, and even perfect strangers. You too? Was there a time when you decided you were really grown up? I am 65 years old, and still seek my parents’ advice. 

I sure didn’t see that coming.