In my most recent post, I stumbled upon something, a nugget (to me) amongst my musings. It was one of those, “Aha!” moments when my racing mind suddenly epiphanized in a bright burst of light and clarity.
To quote a poet (inside joke), I wrote, “Why else become an adult but to find my place in this vast world?” It was this sudden thought which brought with it a symphony of colours brilliantly exploding in my mind’s eye as I watched all these dots simultaneously connect. It was like watching the finale of a fireworks display with all the wonder and delight it gives us as children.
(I digress to describe this process to you because if there’s one thing I’ve always loved about my INFJ mind, it’s these moments when my usually chaotic mind crashes like cymbals in a climactic moment of music delivering that blood pumping sound of epical triumph. Besides, I think we all have these moments; being an INFJ is merely my version of the experience.)
To explain these dots now forming a full picture, or at least an outline, in my mind, I need to contextualize.
As a twenty-something individual, these past few years of my life have been about assuming the responsibility of becoming my own person. However, I had limited it to merely having a full-time job, paying bills and taxes, and those other menial tasks which I find so dull and futile.
If I had my way, I would devote my time to my craft, and never work a day job. Unfortunately, such ideals are impossible in this world I find myself living in since apparently I should be a part of it and not the writing hermit I aspire to be.
Only, such an ideal traps me inside a bubble of my own creation, which limits me in experiencing the beauties and joys this world does indeed have to offer, in spite of what evils and perils try to blacken out their light.
There is so much more to life, to living, than I previously allowed myself to imagine. I was too absorbed in my own world, if for good reason most of the time, but I was missing so much.
Part of my wrestle with reality is due to my affinity for Peter Pan. Not just the story, but the mythology, the philosophy, the existentialism of it all. J. M. Barrie was a man before his time.
As a child, few things grasped my attention, delving deep into my soul, like the story of Peter Pan. However, my understanding and affection of the story came mostly from the brilliant Spielberg film, Hook. It is one of my top five favourite films of all time, and now it has become an even more precious treasure I cherish due to the unfortunate outcome for its star actor, Robin Williams, of blessed memory.
Hook was one of those films I remember watching from a very early age, and I immediately fell in love. It’s one of those stories I come back to time after time, always uncovering another layer of depth in the poignant pathos it evokes within my psyche. I cannot articulate how precious it is to me. It’s beyond description. It’s just one of those things I adore.
That said, the story of watching my beloved Peter Pan growing up and becoming an almost dastardly person I despise, full of pride, selfishness, and spite (though, you could argue they were always there comparing it to the original source material) to then to find himself again – who he was, who he is, and who he could be – was like watching my own story.
Even as a child, something premonitory within me knew this could, if not would, become my own journey, for is it not a story we all share? Do we not all struggle with the same pains of loss and defeat, of sacrifice, of growing up? Do we not all struggle with the loss of our innocence, of our hope?
For me, my fear of growing up was epitomized in Peter Pan when Peter says to Wendy, “Never say goodbye because saying goodbye means going away, and going away means forgetting.”
Ultimately, my fear was forgetting.
My journey came to a rather excruciatingly climactic moment when some of my dreams were dashes like pottery against the rocks, and I stood in horror seeing my once beloved treasure lie in utter ruin, obliterated by someone I loved and trusted.
Like Wendy, I had been living in a Never Never Land, until one day, like our heroine, I realized I had to grow up. I could either wallow in my self-pity, the waves thrashing around me as I sat sulking on the beach of my isle of dreams merely gawking at their broken pieces, or I could recover these broken pieces and rebuild, reconstruct, reconcile my life.
And I did. I daresay, I did.
I left my Never Never Land wounded, bruised, and broken, unsure of what reality was, but trusted in something greater than myself, Someone greater than myself. I trusted my broken heart and pains to Hashem, knowing it would only be by His gentle, skilled surgical hands I would be put back together and healed.
I didn’t fight my pain. I embraced it. I embraced my darkness. I allowed the silence and the isolation to soothe me like a salve, oozing into those deep cracks and crevices of my soul until I was completely covered. And there I waited.
During this time, I felt nothing. I felt empty. Alone. But never lost. Like the soldiers returning from the trenches, blinded by mustard gas, I sat and waited for my sight to return, learning to see by sound and touch and smell. I also learned, or rather, allowed myself to believe, to still cling to the truth I felt so far from my desperate reaching grasp – there is still hope, that fairy tales exist.
Somehow, by nothing less than a miracle, I was led out of this dark valley, and now I find myself feasting.
I had been so afraid of growing up, of losing myself to my pain like so many others before me, I dreaded the day I would be faced with the same challenge. Would I make it? Would I survive? Would I live to fight another day stronger, wiser? Or would I simply just exist like a shadow as a result? Would I still have hope?
For now, the answer remains to be seen as I do not want to prematurely spout out some meaningless rendering of ideals. I’m a realist after all.
What then does this have to do with finding my place in this vast world?
As I said, I was trapped in a bubble. How could I find my place if I didn’t want to live here?
Some of my dreams being crushed was like being forced outside, like being forced out of the womb, and to survive I must find my place. Only unlike a new born babe, I know who I am, what I am, and I know what I want to do, where I want to go, and who I want to be.
I remember. I have not forgotten.
And I came home.
I returned home and found a more dazzlingly and wonderful world than I remembered leaving behind. Even though it may be as broken as my heart once was, it’s still good, it’s still beautiful. And I can help rebuild it, too.
Thus, what lies before me is the choice, the chance to make the dreams, the hopes I remember a part of my world, of my reality.
It’s the chance to build myself a home.
Valentine Ideals
SDCC: What You Want to Know – Pt. I
Beautiful Inconsistency
Won’t Look Back
