Olivia Eburne Blog post week of 4/27

This is something I wrote for a History journal that I wanted to share here, too.

Olivia Eburne

Identity

I am a 14-year-old girl from Wellesley, Massachusetts. Many people immediately assume that that makes me a rich, spoiled, Swellesley girl. But it doesn't. I am kind, caring, and I try to give back to the community. I don't live near the center of town, but rather on a beautifully charming pond called Morses pond. Because I live there, I don't live near any of my friends. But I wouldn't move for the world, even if it means being with the "in crowd" or getting richer. I'm not defined by what society thinks I am. I am not a Swellesley girl, just because I live in Wellesley. It is as if I don’t even live in Wellesley, living where I do. I love the pond. Growing up, it has shaped me. I swim in it every day in the summer, paddling out on my stand-up paddle board, then diving in once I have passed the weeds. Some of my friends think that it is dirty and gross, but I love it. I paddle over to the town beach across the way, and swim there too. I go out for canoes, swatting the bugs, checking for turtles in their favorite sunning spots. Sometimes I see a muskrat, or a great blue heron. Mostly I see ducks, geese and swans.

In the winter, I skate on the pond and the entire community appears. In the winter, the pond connects everyone on it. Go out for a skate, and you’re likely to meet at least four other people doing the same thing, or any other ice activity, such as kiting, ice-boating, ice-fishing, or cross-country skiing. In the evenings, everyone is out. There are parties, and if you’re on the pond you’re invited. There are cookouts and exploring and hockey games, organized out of the rag-tag team of kids who happen to be out skating that day. When it snows, we shovel rinks—giant ones, bigger than hockey rinks. We create paths to connect the rinks, and through them flow easily from one house to the other, stopping to say hello, and maybe get hot cocoa. Perhaps I'm romanticizing it a bit, but skating on the pond is my favorite thing in the world: To feel the wind in your hair. To look back and see the vine-shaped imprints your skates leave on the ice. That’s the most graceful thing I can imagine, and I’m so proud that I can count it as my identity. Because I don't think my identity is defined by what I look like, or what I own. At least, not just by that. I believe that it is also created out of the memories that you possess—the bouquet of good smells, and salty tears, and joyful hugs. The breathtaking things that you have seen, and the amazing things you have experienced. These are the moments that make up your true identity. These are the things that make you who you are, that influence your personality and disposition. And I think they are the only things that matter.

Some people might want to hide some of their memory bouquet, feeling ashamed of some of the things. And that is completely okay. You can choose whatever flowers from your bouquet that you want everyone to see. Because it won’t matter—in the end, you will still be that whole bouquet on the inside. And as long as you are alive, you can keep adding to that bouquet, and making it stronger and better, and lovelier every day.