Self.

What happens to you when you grow up? It's something I've always wondered about and struggled with. When you leave each stage of your life, do you grow out of that shell like the butterfly emerging from its cocoon? Is it like evolution, so slow that it's only noticeable much later? Are there versions of you in alternate dimensions, carrying on like your eight year old self (pretending your bicycle is a horse) or your sixteen year old self (full of shaven headed rebellion)?

Do those selves just fade away to nostalgic fondness or a slow head shake when you remember how "silly" you used to be?

As I "grow up," I find myself unconsciously catering to society in ways that would have made my ultra-feminist, chelsea-wearing teenage self ill. I've grown my hair out, I don't "mouth off" as often, I'm working full-time and writing less... the list goes on and on. But the thing is... I choose not to be ashamed of either of those sides of me. I am still a feminist, I'm a proud out bisexual and I use my writing to bring political change instead of protesting and holding signs. In the rush to fix my credit scores, buy a house, "grow up," I worry that I have lost that fire inside me.

Then there are days like today, on a long walk, where Ani comes on and I unabashedly raise my fist into the air, take a deep breath of sunshine and remember.

I am still her. But I am also me, now. I'm the culmination of all of those selves... picking flowers to wear in my hair, fighting "the man"... but I'm also ready for the future. I'm ready to put down roots and grow. I'm ready for my daughter to learn about revolution and change and for her to take of the (hopefully not head shaving) reins. This isn't a world for the young, for the middle-aged, or for the old... this world is all of our responsibilities.

And I know sixteen year old Mell(i)e would be proud of me for that.