The Truth About Youth

Photo: Taken in February at Seattle's Georgetown neighborhood, this street art features a serene sloth who holds a crystal staff and wears a backpack. Evidently, their name is Henry. There is a bird, a nest of eggs, an assortment of figures in various levels of mirth, some eyes, some laces, and a few letters that mean nothing without context. You never know what you will see walking around a city!

On a recent evening stroll, we passed a gaggle of girls dressed up for a night out. They reeked of recent showers and were engulfed in a cloud of perfume which followed them as they walked. Truly Renaissance women - dressed in long silky gowns with sturdy Doc Martens boots on their feet - they were ready for dancing, marching or perhaps both.

How could they possibly know that this could be the best they'd ever look and feel - lithe and unencumbered, faces fresh and unlined, bodies taut and strong. Once out of the relative cradle of college, they might develop bags under their eyes from too many late nights at the office, put on pounds and acquire worries, become bill-payers and parents. 

How humbling it would be for the young and beautiful if they knew that they will one day be old and frail and will lose most everything they have, including their friends and their beauty. What they'd gain would mean nothing now, though it'd be hard-won and take effort. Surely, they'd expect to grow and change, but do our younger selves ever know the path and course of our lives? We simply go. We wander, we backtrack, we veer, but it is always forward, always into the future.

I came across an article, the kind of click-bait that makes a welcome break from doomscrolling, that juxtaposed photos of people aged 100+ alongside their younger selves. In most cases, the faces remained the same, minus shocks of hair, in some cases teeth, and with the cares of their world etched deep. It is a survival tactic that the young cannot imagine what time will do to their bodies and their dignity, taking much of their strength, some of their optimism and bits of their fragile hope. But humans are nothing if not resilient.

When we first moved to this town, we marvelled at the group of young people, on a particular corner in the village, who played ball in the street and played flashlight tag long after the streetlights came on. It reminded us of the way kids used to play - before the haze of blue light emanated from screens, before gaming, before social media. They were doing nothing they considered spectacular, but to us (who remembered what it was like to live free and run wild in our younger days) they were an exuberant show of simplicity and joy. Their shrieks of delight carried on the summer night air, bringing a carefree mood to the whole town: it was impossible to walk or drive by and not smile.

Ultimately, every older person still has that kid inside them, that twinkle, that spark, what made them almost-guaranteed fun to be around, quick to laugh or share, likely ready to pass wisdom or gather a few more memories. I hoped that the flashlight-tag kids would keep slivers of that energy and vibrancy tucked into their psyches when they were sitting on porches in rocking chairs. I wished them the foresight to relish the simple things and cherish their youth. But all they can do is to live life in a straight or wiggly line and know that everything they are now - brave, strong, silly and imaginative will always be there, somewhere inside. How deep within them it will rest is completely up to them.