Never Grew Up

Here’s a change of pace: Instead of reporting on all my busywork (note: we’re trying to fix the fountain– and there’s SO many issues…!) I have a thoughtful, reflective thing to say.

I was watching one of those rare films that captures what its like to be a kid. A female, quirky, bold kid in her tweens who lives in a rich fantasy world. It wasn’t a great film or anything, but it captured the mentality, the outlook, of such a person. And watching it brought back all sorts of memories…

However, what struck me the most about it was how weird I really am in that I never really gave all that up. I mean, when most kids hit their teens, they get into the opposite sex and enter status contests and emulate their peers and so forth. I remember watching other kids who “grew up” before me lose that whole childhood “pretending” thing and I distinctly remember the horror I felt at how the most interesting parts of them just– disappeared into stupid obsessions over things that were just– depressing and boring.

Glumly, I awaited my fate. Surely I would follow them all into the mundane world of teenagers and adults and lose my play-pretend mind and ways. I waited it in dread… and continued to wait. I turned 13, then 14, then 15. All my previous friends who would make believe with me lost it and stopped, but I continued– knowing I was doomed like the rest. But then I turned 16 and 17 and 18… and its like my inner child forgot to go away.

Oh, I worried about status like other teenagers and I was a late bloomer, but got into guys by the time I was an adult. But that fantasy part of my life, though subdued and hidden for the most part, never went away.

I’m 45 now and STILL love to imagine. I actually start to have emotional issues if I don’t get me my regular pretending time!

Of course, I’m not alone. Lots of people have rich imaginations. Maybe most of them hide it the way I do– maybe a lot of us never grew up. More than we think… Whether they can write down what they imagine or not, they still have a whole other life on the side, or maybe many lives like I do. All populated with distinct and colorful characters, who undergo triumphs and tragedies and somehow find the meaning behind it all that is missing in our real lives.

All these years later, I’m glad I never grew up completely. There is enough sorrow and drudgery to fill my normal life– and I’m luckier than some. I’m proud that I retained a piece of the magic of childhood that most people lose. Its saved my life numerous times, and made existence worthwhile even during the most grim of times. Without it, I wouldn’t be me. I wouldn’t be a me that I could like or cherish the same way.