At 40, I am convinced that we cosplay as adult characters to hide our inner child, mostly from ourselves. Some seem to allow the stresses of life and responsibilities to make the mask indistinguishable, but I doubt any truly make it real. Do you wear the mask of age over the eyes of your inner child? Does age hold a meaningful value to you beyond the comradery of shared experience?

  • chirospasm@lemmy.ml
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    4 days ago

    There’s an internal age we feel personally, there’s an external age we present as – and then there’s an age that can brought out of us, based solely on circumstances.

    In the case of all three, for the sake of this idea gaining some traction with most folks reading, I might re-label ‘age’ as ‘identity’, or even some kind of part of ourselves, coming to the forefront out of necessity. This idea comes from Internal Family Systems Theory.

    When we are faced with circumstances that invite us to ‘act our age,’ such as knowing we need to get good rest for the next day, that’s the part of us that comes to the forefront to help because we have the experience to know so. That part of us is there to protect us from experiences we’ve had in the past that may have sucked, such as having to go into work after a late night of Mountain Dew and gaming. That part’s job might even be as a ‘protector,’ who supports us in taking responsibility seriously, practicing readiness, having some forethought.

    Likewise, when we are faced with circumstances that invite us to entertain children, such as playing pretend or being silly, that’s the part of us that we had at the forefront of that age, and we can call it up in a kind of way that doesn’t feel like ‘faking’ it. That part of us is there to continue a sort of ‘zone of play’ we all liked, where it was fun and easy to ‘yes and’ other kids into a made-up game with made-up rules, or do something goofy because we all felt goofy. That part’s job might be as a ‘joy-bringer,’ who supports us in exercising freedom, living out radical invitation, being creative. Simple, dumb joy.

    All parts are necessary, and the parts are neither good or bad. Just parts.

    Nothing ever disappears, either – nor should it disappear, regardless of whichever part of us is so drastically at the forefront as to convince all the other parts that they aren’t important to function in this life – even at 40.

    Hell, especially at 40.