In 1998, I couldn't skip or kick a ball to a target. But I did however, speak in complete sentences, know my home address, appear emotionally stable, and use scissors 'effectively' (whatever that means). I was deemed ready for grade school.
And tonight (or, yesterday, really), I graduated from high school. It wasn't what I expected, somehow - maybe it's one of those things that you hold impossibly high expectations for and end up disappointed in the end. But 'disappointed' doesn't seem quite right - and I'm not sure what is. I have earned something. I'm just trying to figure out what.
Today, I flipped through an old issue of Vogue at Dimensions while Katy got her hair trimmed. I used to read things like Seventeen and Elle for various reasons, like fashion or beauty tips, etc. But today, after passing over a ridiculous number of advertisements, I settled on an article about facelifts. When I was about fourteen or so, I went to Dr. Rona Beth Holmes, a dermatologist here in Auburn, to have a mole under my collarbone removed. (Side note: Dr. Holmes actually ended up being my Duke University Alumni interviewer this spring). One of the first things I noticed was that her private practice office was nothing like the pediatrician's office. Instead of picture books and building blocks, there were fashion magazines and fitness guides. There were lotion samples and skin care regimens displayed as if it was a store. The next thing I noticed was that Dr. Holmes was very pretty, and rather young - another alternative to the pediatricians I've had. As an impressionable teenager, I found it fascinating that it was possible for someone to have their career based on both beauty and medicine.
The facelift article in Vogue was about a woman, now 68 years old, who, over the course of sixteen years, went through two invasive procedures (i.e. facelifts done by surgically cutting the skin and pulling it tighter) as well as newer, alternative procedures (i.e. laser treatment). I think when I first expressed my interest in the article to Katy, it came off as something along the lines of "Look, this woman looks great after the surgeries - I might consider this when I'm her age". Which isn't true - I have a weird aversion to surgeries that are designed to make you look younger. It's like you're lying to people without saying anything. What I really meant was: Look, this is what people are capable of doing to themselves. The article was about how technology has changed over the time between the woman's first face lift and now. When she had her first procedure at age 52, it involved a scalpel and common sense: if you don't want wrinkles, let's cut off the extra skin. (Katy, I'm trying not to be too graphic). But today, new technologies are available, like laser treatment and autologous fat transfer (using liposuction to take fat from the patient's abdomen or thighs and injecting it into parts of the face that appear "sunken in"). And the impressive part about the new technologies is that they're innovative - they utilize common knowledge in a way that requires less work to be done. For example, the skin is made up of several layers and sub-layers, the outermost of which is dead and will be shed quickly. Then, the subsequent layers grow until they die as well, and the body continues in this cycle. (Coincidentally, I was reading up on this stuff yesterday for no reason). With the knowledge that the body will continue to regenerate healthy skin cells, one of the ideas of using laser treatment is to destroy the top, "old" layer of skin, knowing that new, "young" cells will grow in their place.
I'm sure that entire spiel was pretty boring to most people who actually read it. I am quite aware that I find entertainment in things that others don't. But my point is that things change. When I first went to Dr. Holmes, I left considering a career in dermatology, simply because it supported healthy physical beauty. But now I realize that it's more than something as superficial as that - you have no idea how excited I was to get those two stitches below my clavicle.
Twelve years ago, I couldn't kick a ball to a target, or skip across a room. And today, I graduated from high school, reaffirmed my belief in science, and am one step closer to finding what makes me happy. Oh, and I kicked Neal's butt playing darts at Project Graduation. I guess I learned to aim at a target at some point as well.
