I wish I could fly.
Like Peter Pan soaring off to Neverland with a trail of pixie dust and a girl in a blue dress not far behind.
I wish I could slow down my mind.
Shhhh it to sleep with a lullaby sung by a chorus of whales that spout bubbles made of ambien.
I wish I could express myself fully.
Complete my final sentence and burst into flames, rising as a phoenix from the remnants of my former unexpressive self, using the pages of my yellow legal pad for wings.
I wish I could travel back in time.
Warn my past-self that the love of my life was about to douse my heart with gasoline and toss a match to it, so perhaps I should stock up on buckets and buckets and buckets of water to prevent her from burning a hole through my chest.
But I can wish and wish for a million things and none of them will come true...
For it is Fear, not Wishing, that is the most powerful of all summoning forces.
If I fear something happening, inevitably it will.
If I fear my girlfriend cheating on me, she will.
If I fear my family falling apart, it will.
If I fear that my art is not good enough and that it will fail me when I need it most, it will.
Fear runs rampant through my life, a headless horseman wrecking everything in its path, hooves black with the mud of my insecurities.
It takes that which is joyful and good and taints it with curly wisps of smoky what-if’s.
These what-if’s are quiet, barely noticeable alone.
But together-what if he's lying what if she doesn't really love you what if you aren't as strong as you think you are what if you're not good enough-the venom of a thousand copperhead snakes has nothing on the poison of these questions.
So who then will be my David and slay this giant Fear, that appears only when it is most unwelcome?
No one will be.
No one can.
Indeed, no one person can save me from something that comes from within myself.
Instead, the answer appears in the form of my own tiny light.
Admittedly, it is a very small light, but even the tiniest of twinkles can penetrate the deepest darkness.
And once this Hope has presented itself, glowing like a little firefly flashing in the nighttime of my breast; even when I can’t see it, I know that it is there.
And it is stronger than Wishing, because a wish is an impossibility before it has even left my mouth.
I wish I could fly.
I wish I were Peter Pan.
I know these wishes will not come true even before I have reached into my pocket to feel for the quarter that will sink to the bottom of the fountain.
But Hope...Hope is a certainty that outmatches even fear.
It is a certainty because it is based on the logic of what has passed.
Things will get better.
I will improve.
Doors can open.
I know these things to be true because they have happened once before and will happen again.
The proof lies in the knowledge that there is always air just above the surface of the water.
And if you can only hold your breath long enough, you will eventually get there.
Fear, for all the droves of barristers it has arguing its case constantly in my head, is not based in what has happened.
It is predicated solely on the notion that I can predict the future.
And I am no prophet, though my imagination tends to disagree.
Fear has no flesh and blood supporters; it has no human advocate in this world fighting for its cause.
But the existence of Hope is championed by everyone that I love and that is a magic that’s easy to believe in.
So I arm myself with a dagger made of past triumphs, and pixie dust from those who love me most.
And Captain Hook doesn’t stand a chance
Monday, 21 July 2014
“Packing” is a dirty, dirty word.
I have long since suspected as much.
This word encapsulates many horrible unmentionables, which I shall mention for you now.
One of these involves something called “Stripping the Bed," which loosely translates as “an action that removes any possible feeling of homeliness from your room."
One is called “Emptying Drawers," which often goes hand in hand with a rising feeling of nausea and dread.
Another involves placing suitcases around willy-nilly, and staring at them mournfully.
Many people play up-tempo music while Packing in an attempt to disguise its true nature. This never works, and often results in a lasting hatred for the music itself.
I have also noticed this word used in tandem with another equally dirty phrase, that being “Saying Goodbye."
Saying Goodbye is an action very similar to leaping off a very tall diving board into a pool, if that pool was actually a 3inch thick sheet of ice and not a pool at all.
Saying Goodbye is something I try to do as infrequently as possible. Though for some reason, it keeps happening to me.
Saying Goodbye and Packing both fall under an extremely slippery category called “Change."
Change is apparently extremely necessary for “Growth” and is even considered good for you in some cultures.
I find Growth to be overrated, and think that Change tastes like dirty pennies, which is ironic, don’t you think?
After all, it’s because of Growth that I no longer fit into the clothes at "Please Mum Inc." which is very inconvenient for me and also very sad.
However, all of these stupid, smelly words seem to be necessary if you want to do things like “Have a Career” and “Someday Support a Family” and my personal favorite, “Do What You Love."
And if you never Say Goodbye, you never get to have adventures.
And if you don’t Pack before you Say Goodbye, then you won’t be fully prepared for all your adventures and you might forget things like your hat with flowers on it or your toothbrush or your Winnie the Pooh blanket.
These are all important things.
And if I’d never Said Goodbye because I was afraid of Change and didn’t like Growth, then I’d be a very short, boring person who’d never even seen what New York City looks like.
And I never would have met you, which would be very sad indeed.
So I guess, I’ll just have to keep using all of these words.