My street is more than just gravel and tar. My street is more than neatly painted beige houses lined up in rows like wheat fields. My street is more than the awkward yearly get togethers down at the clubhouse at the entrance of our neighborhood.
My street is friends, family, memories, and everything in between. Those memories include neighborhood parades, racing down the street on my bike with my siblings, playing made up superhero games in my neighbor’s backyard, so many bonfires that I have lost track of how many exactly, selling extremely overpriced lemonade on scorching summer days, walking a few of my fluffy bunnies on tiny bunny leashes, rather I guess I should say they walked me as I frantically chased after them, and adventuring through what I used to call the crond with friends; which is a pond or creek near my house. It is really whatever you would like to call it. I could not decide between the two, so I just combined them and made the word crond. My street is all my great neighbors that have been there for my family and me through thick and thin. There are also those neighbors that are not so great as well, but I will not mention them as speaking of them is not worth putting a sour taste in my mouth.
I feel like it was just the other day that I was down a few houses dancing to Britney Spears and eating popsicles with a bunch of the neighborhood kids. We all laughed, sang, and danced the night away. I grew up without a care in the world to one day wake up to reality.
Growing up I did not think it was physically possible to wait to be a teenager as I was so eager. Constantly dreaming of how fantastic it would be to be older and mature with freedom at my fingertips. Now that I am here, I cannot help but look back. It is as though I am constantly reminiscing on the moments that I had wasted. I spent my time dreaming about a distant future instead of enjoying what little time I had to be young and reckless. My young and naive self lived a life on this street without a world of responsibility and expectations on my shoulders; without a set of standards and achievements to meet or exceed. From my experience, life is not all at all what it is cracked out to be. I expected to be limitless and bold, but rather I am an anxiety ridden mess of a person that is constantly frazzled from all that I have to do. I feel as though I cannot catch a break. If I had to use a feeling to summarize the past few months it would be when you are at the beach and you get pulled under by a wave and you cannot break surface long enough to catch your breath. I have had ethereal and also traumatizing experiences during my time spent here on this street.
In the thirteen years that I have lived here on this street, I have grown to be the person I am today. Whether that is an achievement or a work in progress is debatable. My street is more than just gravel and tar; my street is a part of who I am.