Having been born with a devastating and seemingly incurable case of peter pan syndrome I have still, as of date had the inability to grow up, in any way, shape or form. Constantly and continually immature I regrettably require relentless and persistently unwavering adult supervision. I am a tragic forever child.
I am overly excitable and unpredictable, from losing my mind over a song to losing my heart to a complete stranger to losing my wallet in an instant. I fall in love at the drop of a hatch, to people and spaces and places and inanimate objects. I still think a kiss is as innocent and enchanting as a thimble and that a happy thought can make you feel light as air as though you’re flying, and twirling and spinning through clouds and stars and dreams. I am simultaneously filled with glee and fear over anything new, my heart races with amalgamation of shear excitement and terror. It is unstoppable.
But it must stop. But must it stop?
Can one really live their life like this? Is it possible to survive in a world that does not typically tolerate this stunted life style? Perhaps I’m over analyzing and magnifying the situation but it has been making me think, and think that I am, about the path one takes to make the leap to adultville. Has my brain map been charted without such a route? Does one discover the path to rules, regulations and responsibilities through some overwhelming life development and change or am I merely a lazy and lackadaisical late bloomer. Perchance my peers simply appear to be grown up and it’s all a facade and if this is the case I’d really appreciate some honestly. Do you really have it all fingered out; and if so what kind of Houdini Wicca witch craft Harry Potter pixie dust magic did you use to transport your goofy youth self to a state of nine to five pay your bills on time. I’d like to believe that I can continue to live my life in this spontaneous whimsical childlike way, but I most certainly have my doubts.
I suppose to could start constructing self imposed adult guidelines to my every day life; a sort of bizzaro version of the born again WWJD. My new motto could alas be WWAAD? But, what would an adult do? I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Could I build four walls of self imposed adult imprisonment? I suppose I could start by eliminating all Technicolor crazy from my life; wardrobe, people and surroundings and incase myself in a land of muted colours of beige, eggshell and taupe. But the thought of doing this mere act alone makes my heart sad and brain panic. I wouldn’t last a day. I would go mad.
Than again...
Maybe we do not all have to take that leap to the land of the mature and maybe oddly enough I’m too old to grow up. I could be forever be stuck in my hopscotch, lollipop and pig tail ways, with no escape in sight, and that might be alright. I know I love games and jokes and laughing, though possibly too loud, more than I could ever enjoy having a well organized closet or dare I say filing cabinet. I could care less how clean my room is and if I still get my kicks from outrageous nothings. I thrive off getting hyperventilatingly excited over the presumably most mundane of things. And so what if this is deemed immature and contemptibly and shamefully juvenile by the masses. Do I care? Should I care?
Maybe I am one of the few who will never find there way out of Neverland, and maybe, just maybe that’s okay. I hope...
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Muted colours of beige? I thought you liked beige! And eventually, as my theory goes, that because of default you will be considered grown up. I've always tagged it at around 40. At 40 you are who you are, and people will just compact whoever you are into the "adult" concept.
ReplyDeleteadult is a dirty word. but you should always know how to catch your shadow. or at least have a friend to sew it back on when you've misplaced it. love you!! xox
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