I couldn’t wait to grow up. I can distinctly remember being in 5th grade and telling myself I only had to deal with this for 7 more years and then I’d be free to fly. I’ve always been a big dreamer. At times my imagination would create beautiful worlds and outcomes of grandeur. I’d have great hopes for the future but that active imagination would also turn dark and create some intense fears out of nothing.
I can remember being so upset by the littlest things and my dad would say “Do you really want something to cry about?” He wasn’t being threatening, he was providing perspective that there are harder things in life and everything didn’t need to be a “trigger”. No one told me that the future I was wishing to get to would be filled with things much worse then 5th graders. Those 7 years felt like they dragged and all of a sudden I’m 42 and widowed. I didn’t want to be this kind of grown up.
I have had many days since Clayton passed wishing I could have paused time. Just to be able to hang up my shadow and be carefree. Some days I’ve played pretend and lived in a fairytale where everything was fine. Some nights I’d go to bed hoping it was all a bad dream. I’d just wake up back in my bedroom a much wiser 5th grader. No rushing and way more respect for the process.
I can’t go back so all I can do is share my perspective in hopes that others will slow down their rush. You never know what that next big thing is and my dad was right, it might really be something to cry about.
For the past three years I have searched and searched in all my imagination. Although at times I truly feel like “a lost boy” I’ve looked everywhere and I can’t find a way to get to Neverland. Peter Pan never stopped by and I’m well aware of my shadow…