How wise is it to be stupid? I mean to be stupid when that stupidity is considered sane?
I think that one of the challenges that come with growing up fast, with quickly maturing—in ways that are not physical, is the things you miss.
In truth, I wrote this first bit up there last year with the intention to post when I was done. For some reason, I forgot to continue. The inspiration that birthed this has since been wrapped in mental dust.
Growing up fast means your childhood ends quicker than it should. The time you should spend with the rest of your peers eating biscuits, running around and being blissfully ignorant gets cut short. You get dropped with an arbitrarily calculated suddenness into a world that came a couple years too early.
And it can be lonely, not being able to pretend to be excited by what should excite you; not having friends who understand or can even, to some extent, relate with the thoughts that make their way out your lips; hearing your friends say you think too much; having older friends—or being too young to. And many years later, watching your friends talk about their childhood, about the tinsels and naiveties that punctuated their lives, with gusto, and you listening, your heart in a distant, quiet place, wondering what you did with your own childhood.
Childhood is stupidity, some may say—a cute kind. When I asked how wise it is to be stupid, well, I can’t really remember what was on my mind when I first typed that. If you consider the things typical of your age stupid but others your age don’t, is it wise to do those things just to feel like you have fully lived or in an attempt to dilute what might become a smothering nostalgia about a time you could have used differently?