Every child grows up…except one.
So begins one of my favorite stories of a boy who shirked the perils of wearing ties in favor of forever climbing trees and fighting pirates. Neverland – it seems like paradise. No responsibilities; no threats of old age; no adults. But, alas, it’s a bittersweet tune that the fairies sing.
I would like to classify myself as an eternal child, as I am constantly wary that growing up is not as wonderful as it’s been purported to be. But this break, I’ve seen through my sister that perhaps the joys of being childlike need not be marred by the daunting task of coming of age. In fact, this developmental crisis may not be a crisis at all.
Cue my sister, Christina. On paper, she would be termed an “adult” – TCU grad, post-Fulbright scholar, BBC producer-reporter in the Philippines, rent-payer, crockpot-owner. But see her in person, and this 4’9” girl, blowing bubbles as she skips to the car, seems to defy even the word “adult.”
She has somehow embraced “real life” (as we call life after college) without disdaining pure joy. Sometimes when I’m dancing in the car with her I forget that she lives a working woman’s life. At first, I thought perhaps she was only regressing to a previous developmental stage because of her return to the USA, but upon further observation, I’ve realized the secret to her innocent joy. It’s all a matter of perspective – she’s consciously chosen to see her career as just another outlet for her passionate energy instead of letting it become a routine part of a stagnant life.
So concludes the greatest lesson of my Christmas break: Growing up does not mean you can no longer fly.
