Every now and again (whatever that means), I’m going to switch things up and post something that I’ve written in the past. Most likely, it won’t be related to the crystal clear topic of this blog (note sarcasm). It may not even be bloggish. It might be an interesting read, but I can’t promise anything on this little corner of the World Wide Web.
I took some writing courses in 2021 through Holyoke Community College. In Digital Storytelling (which, by the way, was my favorite course ever), we published our assignments on Medium.com. Unfortunately, I set up Medium with my college email address, which I can no longer access. So, I figured I would publish some of it here. Otherwise, I’m afraid it will all disappear.
The first assignment was to write an “Origin Story” (or my origin story, so in other words, write something very self-centered. Ew).
Make-Believe
I remember when our neighborhood was filled with kids playing ball, running, or throwing rocks, and at the age of 7, I could walk out my front door and see friends for miles. I remember when I was a senior in high school, and at the age of 17, I could walk out the front door of the school and feel fear. It was a fear of the unknown and leaving the simple life behind. I knew high school couldn’t last forever because they were pushing me out into the real world, and I couldn’t convince them that I was much better at make-believe.
I remember when my real world turned into college, and my head remained in the clouds. I hopped on a bus every day, made average grades, and enrolled in theater and acting classes. I fell in love with performing, even though I didn’t do drama. I was following my heart, not the path that was laid out for me. I was still living like Peter Pan, and I intended to stay there for as long as possible. There was no reason to push me out into the next real world, because I was paying for this experience, and I was proving how good I was at make-believe.
I remember my first office job after college. I was the only female in the company, but I was fierce when I needed to be. We all were. And even though I didn’t do drama, we fought all the time because arguing was the only way we knew how to communicate. We were young and trying to prove that we could change the world, or at least this small part of it. When I look back, I think about how these people were probably some of the best friends I ever had. Despite our communication style, we worked well, played well, and were all better at make-believe.
I remember when “Neverland” seemed so far away because I eventually grew up. I fell into marriage and parenthood. I turned into a worrier, instead of a wanderer. I worried about life, health, friends, school, bullying. I worried about everything I had no control over. The worrying took over, and I no longer jumped into anything. I pondered every thought, every action, every sentence because it wasn’t about me anymore. It was about family. It was about making every right decision. I felt that pressure. I made that pressure, but I didn’t make every right decision because that only happens in make-believe.
I remember that life isn’t make-believe. I’ve grown. I’ve made mistakes, but I wouldn’t change a thing. And I’ll continue to fly through life with a creative mind, a playful spirit, and a little bit of make-believe.
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