|Drawing I found in my bedroom, circa 1992 (age 8)|
On the surface it might seem like I've failed to live up to my childhood dream (although my apartment is the size of a bubble) but maybe that's not entirely true. Though we all have to spend a fair amount of time in the world "full of weeping" living our grownup big people lives, we should aspire not to take ourselves too seriously. I try to act like a little kid or at least think like one as often as possible. Having a dog and nieces to indulge my immaturity helps but all that's really necessary is imagination and a willingness to let ourselves play. If you could hang out with your eight-year-old self right now, what would he or she want to do? Me and little me would be in some sort of flouncy costumes playing dress-up or pretending the backyard was a magical kingdom or HARASSING my old dog Tiger who just barely tolerated me because no matter how hard I tried, he just did not want to give me a pony ride. Little me was a spunky, confident bad-ass little girl and I wouldn't want to shatter her dreams. I'm basically a beautiful fairy princess, right?