In this world, we punish innocence. One of my favorite quotes is by the author, Robert R. McCannon. It goes like this:
“We all start out knowing magic. We are born with whirlwinds, forest fires, and comets inside of us. We are born able to sing to birds and read the clouds and see our destiny in grains of sand. But then we get the magic educated right out of our souls. We get it churched out, spanked out, washed out, and combed out. We get put on the straight and narrow path and told to be responsible. Told to act our age. Told to grow up, for God’s sake. And you know why we were told that? Because the people doing the telling were afraid of our wildness and youth, and because the magic we knew made them ashamed and sad of what they’d allowed to wither in themselves.”
Think about it. As very small children, we unquestionably believe anything that we’re told. We believe in Santa Clause, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy – that is, until some poor unfortunate child, whose parents have already taken thier wonder, spreads the word. In elementary school, we dream of becoming ballerinas and astronauts only to be taught that very few people can actually attain such a goal and that the majority of us will join the 9-5ers. Later, we are made fun of by our friends for not knowing some word that describes an unsightly sexual position – told that we are hilariously naive. Then, as young adults, we are told that music is a hobby, dancing can’t pay the bills, and that art should be left to the aisle of painted flowers and prints at Target. And finally, as “grownups,” if the magic hasn’t completely been wiped from our brains, we’re taught to simply stop dreaming – to be cynical and suspicious, and to make the responsible choice. Saddest of all, at some point, we give in. The only belief that we have left… is that magic simply does not exist.
I remember when I used to like who I was. I mean unapologetically, didn’t-care-what-anyone-thought, kind of like. It was at some point along the journey to having my magic sucked from my grip that I started to place more value on what others thought of me than what I thought of myself. And so the vicious cycle began. I acted how I thought others would perceive me best, but then my own perception convoluted reality. I believed that others thought worst of me and so I tried even harder. I tried so hard to become who I thought others wanted me to be or perceived me to be, that I forgot who I really was – worse yet, hated the person I had become. That’s the challenge with perception, everyone has one and likely no two are exactly the same. I had become so concerned with building this fictional life, a life that was so fictional in fact that it was entirely unattainable, that I had become a fictional character myself. But if no one watched the movie or read the book, that character no longer exists. That’s how I felt. If it weren’t for the acknowledgement and approval of others, I didn’t exist. Sad, right? I thank God that this is something that I can honestly say I no longer believe… or at least I am working tirelessly towards not believing.
Getting sick, in that sense, is maybe one of the best things that has ever happened to me. If you want to experience a humbling you never thought possible, simply lose everything you ever thought defined you as a person. What seemed like overnight, I was no longer young. I was no longer part of a work force. I was no longer a runner. I was no longer an equally contributing partner to my marriage. I was no longer a member of society. If that were all not enough, leaving the house in a wheelchair, in pajamas, and with no makeup on (not to mention my grey, pale, lifeless skin) was a humbling experience in and of itself. But when it’s the only way to escape the never-ending prison of Netflix and pain, I suddenly stopped caring what I looked like. I also suddenly stopped caring what others thought of me. I was simply too sick to uphold any type of fictional perception I thought others might have about me. It’s sad that it took such an extreme, life-altering event for me to regain the person I was meant to be – the real me. And I’d be lying if I said that I still didn’t have fleeting thoughts about how someone may perceive me or times when I experience insecurities about acne breakouts or weight gain. It’s amazing how engrained those thoughts about myself had become in my life. I catch myself feeling ashamed about who I am almost instinctually, but then I remember, I am not what someone else believes me to be. I get to choose the person I am. I get to choose how I feel about myself – the acne, my body, my personality …all of it. And I finally, after learning many lessons the hard way, choose to love the person I have become. All of me! No, I am not perfect. I would NEVER claim to be such but you know what… it’s a lie that I have to be. I love the person I have become, not just despite my many flaws, but because of them. In fact, they are the very reason I have begun to get my magic back. Why I am chasing my wonder again. How I’m relearning to read clouds and to see my destiny in a grain of sand. I’m done being ashamed of who I am. I’m letting go of everything I was taught and I’m slowly remembering how to sing wildly to the birds.
…I hope you join me.
“Build someone up. Put their insecurities to sleep. Remind them they’re worthy. Tell them they’re magical. Be light in a too often dim world.” – unknown