I was chatting with someone earlier this week, and they asked me if I always wanted to be a scientist, and it gave me pause. Today I was considering writing about being young and “making it,” but I think the current title better reflects what I’d like to focus on: being unsheltered but somehow sheltered in a way that can make you a late bloomer.

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The first crush I can remember was a boy called BP. We were in middle school in sweltering summer heat; he was a sort of shade. He was so cute, with icy deep blue eyes (not the scary pale type), and he loved to play football, always yapped about it. I used to secretly hope he’d let me escape with him.

For whatever reason, he always stopped to talk to me. It confused me at the time because I didn’t dress in a fly way, just what we could afford, plus the clothes or out-of-style sneakers I would borrow from my cousins, who were kind enough not to complain.

During that kind hectic time in life, I always appreciated his sweetness and how he was not the “brightest” intellectually, but he made up for it in warmth. After school, when I waited for my aunt to pick me up, his face would light up, displaying his crooked but white teeth (all thirty-two), and he’d run to hug me. It always made me feel something. That something wasn’t love, but it was just something, as opposed to the buzz of sugar-coated nothingness that revolved around living with our mom.

It’s only as I get older and less certain of the future that I realize how sheltered we were. At times the past is fuzzy, other times it’s jarringly sharp, but a general theme I recall is the feeling of instability that came with seasons of being unsheltered. Unsheltered in a sense that sometimes we didn’t know where we would stay, but more so emotionally, fending for ourselves and trying our best to consider how much harder someone else had it. Being a sheltered child meant hope, believing that instability could be resolved by just doing the right things, but often in a narrow mindset of success, weddings, children, and humble endings.

In general, my sheltered upbringing taught me to see the world in black and white: you work hard, you don’t complain, you are grateful. This mindset is slowly eroding. I now feel a lot of guilt caring for myself, finding a million reasons to prioritize others’ emotions above my own. I sometimes struggle to set up my own space because my body recalls the fear that it won’t be mine for long, and I struggle to give in a healthy way when I’m deeply interested in someone, though I don’t think I’ve felt mature love yet, just puppy love and the kind that comes with friendship.

I just wanted to share that you can slowly unpack the parts of you that developed while you were sheltered. I will say it has made me very empathetic and creative at making cold places feel like home, and that is one aspect I desire to keep. However, I am slowly learning that I can be “selfish” sometimes and think about what I want in a way that’s balanced and not rooted in greed or being parallel with the Joneses.

I enjoy science. It is fun, hard, and stable, a few of the things I used to yearn for as a child. But I think when you grow up a certain way, you learn to dream for just enough, and it’s hard to see beyond that. I like the ability to see beauty in simple things, but I’m getting more comfortable not being so sure about everything. So, on my off days, I dream outside the box and write.

Happiest Sunday + end of a ramble.