Escaping Neverland
I’ve been thinking a lot about the act of being a grown-up lately. It seems as though Peter Pan is tiptoeing in my shadow as I shuffle around through the house. He’s been following me to work, recently, too. As incognito as he tries to be, that tiny boyish body lurking behind my feet, we’ve been stepping on each other’s toes.
And when I pause to relax for a moment, there he is, perched atop my foot. He dangles his legs over the side of my arch and stretches out, arms behind his head. He likes to relax.
I can see it on Peter’s concerned face as I rush through the monotony of life day by day. He doesn’t like this grown-up business. No, not at all.
I wish I could tell him to call Tink over and we’ll just fly to Neverland on some fairy dust. But I don’t think it would be right to leave all of this important grown-up stuff behind.
The grown-up me understands that the cats won’t do my chores while I’m gone all day. If I decide to plop my butt on the couch all evening, the dishes won’t be done, the laundry won’t leave the dryer and the cat litter won’t be scooped.
The grown-up me has learned that a job is necessary in order to spend money because it doesn’t grow on the tree in the backyard. She understands the value of a budget, the horror of bill paying, and the feeling of seeing your entire paycheck spent on said bills. And she understands that regardless of what she brings in, she will feel like she never, ever has enough of it.
The grown-up me has to watch the news because she can’t rely on her innocent, naive idyllic views to guide her through this world. She waits for people to gain her trust and she doesn’t give anyone the benefit of the doubt.
The grown-up me isn’t friends with everyone. And not everyone is friends with her. This is particularly strange for Pan. But she is beginning to understand that this is perfectly okay. In fact, she’s starting to understand the difference between cordiality, acquaintances, and friends. And that word friend- it’s a pretty strong word for a grown-up.
The grown-up me understands that behind playing house and nesting like it’s her job, there are dirty baseboards, unfinished house projects and a slew of ugly, technical, elbow grease jobs that must be done. She’s starting to figure out this homeownership thing- turns out it’s pretty complicated.
All of that, she’s starting to realize, is okay.
You see, the grown-up me has a husband who kisses her forehead every morning when he leaves for work, two cats that sleep under the covers beside her each night, a scrumptious repertoire of breakfasts, lunches, dinners and deserts, a big girl job that leaves her exhausted each night, and the luxury of being in complete control of her life.
I’m starting to grow into the grown-up me and it seems to fit rather well. I think it’s time Peter Pan found another shadow to inhabit.
*Filed under Personal Life*
