Turn and Face the Strange

by Lara David of Life: The Ongoing Education

I was 19, and he was 20. We were dating casually for the summer while I was home from college – having fun, but nothing serious. But he had known me for years, from before the death of my father. And so one night, in a particularly pensive mood, I asked him: “Have I changed very much since then?”

He thought quietly for a moment. “You don’t smile as much now,” he said. “But when you do, it’s real.” I asked what he meant, and he said, “You used to be happy all the time, but it was always superficial. Now, when you’re happy, it’s more genuine.” He shrugged, not sure how else to explain. “It’s more real.”

I was surprised by the depth of his attention, to have noticed something so small. And I was even more surprised to realize that it was something that I actually hadn’t noticed. How could this boy, who knew so little of me in most ways, see that when I couldn’t?

I’ve come to realize, in the years since that night, that the most important changes in my life are the ones that happen slowly over time, day by day, until one day I’m a new person, with new dreams and new problems, with new hopes and new fears. I see myself every morning, in the bathroom mirror spotted with toothpaste, and I miss the tiny differences that happen every night. I miss all the small things that add up to a big change.

I wonder, in my more whimsical moments, if this is what caterpillars feel. For months they wait in their cocoons, changing moment by moment, without notice. And in the end, they emerge, a beautiful butterfly, with bright colors and patterns and powerful wings. And the world gasps with wonder, to see such splendor, while the caterpillar merely cocks his head and tries to understand what’s happened.

Recently I looked at myself closely for the first time and was surprised to find a stranger. When did I become this woman I see, and where is the girl that I was? I am stronger than I used to be – tried by fire with freedom on the other side. I am beautiful now, in a way I could never be before, if only for my own acceptance of it. I live more in the world and less in myself, and I see other things and other people in a way I never could before.

And I find that the greatest surprise of all is that, just as it did once before, my smile has again settled into something deeper, softer, and more real.











Lara David is a twenty-something California girl, writing and photographing her way through life – and its changes! – one day at a time. Depending on the hat of the day, she is a preschool teacher, a dancer, a nanny, an artist, and a drama queen. She loves new friends, so follow along with the ups and downs of her life lessons at Life: The Ongoing Education. You never know – if you stick around long enough, you just might learn something.

Give an Old Dog a Chance

Written by Lara from Life: The Ongoing Education

I don’t subscribe to the notion that “you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” To be honest, I think the whole concept of referring to humans as dogs – whether old or young – is a bit ridiculous in the first place. But adding to that a limitation on what or how much we can learn? Well, that’s just plain harsh.

I just finished helping plan, run, and teach a week-long summer dance camp. The participants spent seven days learning various forms of waltz, swing, tango, and salsa from professional instructors. They took classes from 9:00am to 5:00pm every day in stifling heat. The learned upwards of a hundred different variations in multiple dance forms, and even learned a few choreographies. And the average age of these participants was probably somewhere in the 50’s.

One of the dance instructors often comments that it’s hard to learn new habits – “especially once you’re over 18.” He seems to be convinced that the mind is closed once you reach adulthood, and that whatever is there is what will stay, and whatever isn’t is doomed to remain unknown. I’m seven years past 18, but I’d hardly say I have difficulty adding to my previous learning. So who’s to say that 17 years, or 47 years, or 77 years past 18 wouldn’t leave me just as flexible? Well, mentally flexible anyway – I’m not hazarding any guesses about my physical flexibility at the ripe old age of 85.

I work in the field of education, and as such, I’m a big proponent of lifelong learning. Studies have shown that people who continue to try new activities and learn new skills are healthier in mind and body. When my grandparents retired twenty years ago, they registered at the local community college; over the years, they’ve taken classes in photography, gardening, painting, and musical theater, just to name a few. Those two are always on the lookout for something new, and you know what? They’re going strong now in their 80’s.

Over the past week of dancing, I’ve seen firsthand the joy that comes from learning these kinds of “new tricks.” There’s a brightness that comes to the eyes of a man who feels the lindy hop rhythm for the first time. There’s a glow that brightens the cheeks of a woman who finds the Cinderella waltz she’s waited for since childhood. The sound of laughter is louder and clearer in a room full of people all making fools of themselves together, because really, no one knows what they’re doing the first time through an Argentine tango. And all of this holds true regardless of age.

Maybe if we could all better understand this joy of learning, we could think about growing old differently. Maybe becoming an “old dog” seems unappealing because there are no “new tricks” waiting for us. The promise of something still to be discovered offers hope and excitement, and that makes this puppy ready to give up the fetch and play a new game.

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Lara David is writing her way through life one day at a time, constantly discovering that the more she learns, the less she really knows. Depending on the hat of the day, she is a teacher, a dancer, a nanny, a photographer, and a drama queen. She loves new friends, so follow along with the ups and downs of her life lessons at Life: The Ongoing Education. You never know – if you stick around long enough, you just might learn something.