I remember the day I
realized that everyone grows up.
My sister (who is substantially older than me and also the best person in the world) and I used to play dolls. Like Bratz, and Barbie’s, Polly Pockets (we chewed on their rubber clothes, lol), and Pet Shops. All of it. And we didn’t just play a little bit.
We built mansions, cities even. We made names, had characters, left the houses up for days behind the couch and annoyed my mom, it was the kind of thing that any 6-year-old would only dream about.
When she got a bit older, and realized that I worshiped the ground she walked on, she made up games for me like “maid” where I would do all her chores while she watched MTV Cribs. And “spa” where I would paint her nails and run a bath with candles lit. We also played “school” where she was my teacher and she made up awesome little projects for me to work on.
She was nothing short of amazing and creative. I loved it.
And older still, she started to do my hair and makeup. This was one of my favourite phases because she made me feel so pretty. And she got to use her pink and blue eyeshadows and hair straightener when mom wasn’t home (this later stemmed into my obsession with makeup).
By this time, I might have only been 9 years old. I was still ready to drop my backpack at the front door and grab a snack and jump back into our games.
But she was older now.
I remember the day it changed. We spent hours building a whole world of Pet Shops. It was all set up, ready to play, and she stood up and said, “I don’t wanna play anymore.”
My heart shattered. I bawled my eyes out. For days.
I would have done anything to get her to keep playing. I would've offered to play a different game, like spa, or promise I would be the one to go into the scary basement and get the Bratz bin. But there was nothing I could do.
It was nothing against her, but who was going to play my goldfish’s husband who she would meet later in the game?
I sat behind the couch, by myself, a yellow bunny in one hand and a pink horse in the other, wondering if I was going to grow up, too. I didn’t want to. Not if it was going to be without Pet Shops or Bratz.
I tried my best to stay little, but all I heard was “grow up already,” “get a life,” “you’re so immature.”
So I did it. I grew up. I had to get braces. I had to shave my legs. And wear bras.
And eventually, all my toys got neatly placed in a Tupperware, and saved for storage.
And I changed. I stopped being creative, making up worlds for myself to exist in. I stopped running home to pick back up where I left off before bed-time. I laughed at little kids, and thought about how they would have to grow up, too, some day.
Sometimes I wonder what growing up is. Or when it happens. I grew up when I stopped using bottles and started using big-girl cups. I grew up when I could sit in the front seat. I grew up when I put my toys away. I grew up when I went into middle school. And got my driver's licence. And high school. I grew up when I moved away from home.
And here I am, in university, wondering when I’m going to grow up again.
When will have a real job? When will I get a credit card? And buy a house? Buy my own set of measuring cups? Read Nicholas Sparks books?
I spend my whole life, just waiting. Waiting to grow up. I couldn’t wait to be sixteen so I could get my license. Then, I couldn’t wait to go to bars. Now I can’t wait to be done school. When does it end?
I wonder what it’d be like if I could pull out my bin full of toys and play pretend again. What stories would I create? I’d be a fashion model (because of course, I had all the best Bratz clothes), or a hippie, or a hairdresser, mother of two, or doctor. I’d probably be anything but a lonely, tired, university student who’s barely scraping by.
That was until a speech came on TV. I’d never heard it. But it caught my attention.
[insert Alan Watts Quote here]
“I wonder, I wonder what you would do if you had the power to dream at night any dream you wanted to dream,”
I sat on the corner of my bed, put my dirty laundry basket on the ground, and listened.
“...as you began on this adventure of dreams you would fulfill all your wishes. You would have every kind of pleasure you could conceive. Love affairs, banquets, dancing girls, wonderful journeys, gardens, music beyond belief.”
It reminded me of the days spent behind my couch, with my sister, in our own little world. Playing make-believe.
“You would move over to a sort of adventurers' dimension, where there were certain dangers involved and the thrill of dealing with things and you could rescue princesses from dragons, go on wonderful journeys, make wonderful explosions and blow them up - eventually get in contests with enemies. And then you would say well, like children that dare each other on things, how far out could you get? What could you take? Then you would get more and more adventurous. Finally you would dream...where you are now. You would dream the dream of living the life of you are actually living today.”
I paused it and pressed rewind.
For a second time.
And then a third.
Why can’t I make my own life like the ones I made for my toys when I was young?
Growing up isn’t real.
Growing up isn't walking away from the people who hurt you because it's the "grown up" thing to do. It's not keeping your job because "it's alright and the money's good." It's not what they told you it was.
Growing up is putting yourself in a box, marked with a “fragile” label, and “this way up” written on the side.
We spend our whole lives trying to work our way up. Be the best. Be the boss. Be anything than who we really are, right here. Right now.
We want to be anything but this living, breathing person sitting on the edge of her bed, dirty laundry beside her, eyes glued to the TV.
We want to be anything but the go-to-bed-early, dinner is at 5, don’t forget to stop for groceries, assignment due tonight person.
We want to do anything other than turn left on the same old streets, tell people everything’s fine when it’s not, make a post of a picture from last summer because we’re reminiscing.
We want anything other than what we have.
But the point is, we have it. We have the sun, we have our names, we have love and pain and truth, and oceans, and highways, and friends to sing in the car with and songs to sing to alone, we have dancing women, and banquets, and gardens, and concerts, music beyond belief, everything Alan Watts told us to dream about. We have all of this and yet we don’t want it. Or maybe, we don’t utilize it.
You don't have to put your dolls away just because you're a big-girl now. Big girls do whatever the hell they want.
So why don’t you just do what your heart tells you to do? Dance to your favourite song, so hard. Race home and turn on your favourite TV show. Get the colourful boots. Pull the bin of toys out from under the stairs and blow the dust off. When did growing up mean leaving everything you loved behind?
I feel myself running to the Tupperware box under the stairs. The cold concrete on my feet. I feel my fingers peel back the hard plastic, I can smell little Haleigh, playing, brushing Sasha’s hair for one last time.
Growing up isn’t being someone better, it’s not forgetting everything you knew. It doesn’t happen because you put your toys away. Growing up isn’t what we thought it is at all.
Growing up is realizing that make-believe is real. And that we stopped being creative when we put the toys in the box and forgot about it under the stairs. It's realizing that big kids stand up for themselves. It's eating pasta for dinner and going to bed feeling happy instead of guilty. It's looking around yourself at all the beauty, and the mayhem, and the faces, and the children, and realizing that you are already at the top. You are already the boss. You are already awake, living the dream you only wondered about when you were younger. You aren't playing make-believe. You are are making your life into what you always believed it might be.
Get creative.
What are you waiting for?
My sister (who is substantially older than me and also the best person in the world) and I used to play dolls. Like Bratz, and Barbie’s, Polly Pockets (we chewed on their rubber clothes, lol), and Pet Shops. All of it. And we didn’t just play a little bit.
We built mansions, cities even. We made names, had characters, left the houses up for days behind the couch and annoyed my mom, it was the kind of thing that any 6-year-old would only dream about.
When she got a bit older, and realized that I worshiped the ground she walked on, she made up games for me like “maid” where I would do all her chores while she watched MTV Cribs. And “spa” where I would paint her nails and run a bath with candles lit. We also played “school” where she was my teacher and she made up awesome little projects for me to work on.
She was nothing short of amazing and creative. I loved it.
And older still, she started to do my hair and makeup. This was one of my favourite phases because she made me feel so pretty. And she got to use her pink and blue eyeshadows and hair straightener when mom wasn’t home (this later stemmed into my obsession with makeup).
By this time, I might have only been 9 years old. I was still ready to drop my backpack at the front door and grab a snack and jump back into our games.
But she was older now.
I remember the day it changed. We spent hours building a whole world of Pet Shops. It was all set up, ready to play, and she stood up and said, “I don’t wanna play anymore.”
My heart shattered. I bawled my eyes out. For days.
I would have done anything to get her to keep playing. I would've offered to play a different game, like spa, or promise I would be the one to go into the scary basement and get the Bratz bin. But there was nothing I could do.
It was nothing against her, but who was going to play my goldfish’s husband who she would meet later in the game?
I sat behind the couch, by myself, a yellow bunny in one hand and a pink horse in the other, wondering if I was going to grow up, too. I didn’t want to. Not if it was going to be without Pet Shops or Bratz.
I tried my best to stay little, but all I heard was “grow up already,” “get a life,” “you’re so immature.”
So I did it. I grew up. I had to get braces. I had to shave my legs. And wear bras.
And eventually, all my toys got neatly placed in a Tupperware, and saved for storage.
And I changed. I stopped being creative, making up worlds for myself to exist in. I stopped running home to pick back up where I left off before bed-time. I laughed at little kids, and thought about how they would have to grow up, too, some day.
Sometimes I wonder what growing up is. Or when it happens. I grew up when I stopped using bottles and started using big-girl cups. I grew up when I could sit in the front seat. I grew up when I put my toys away. I grew up when I went into middle school. And got my driver's licence. And high school. I grew up when I moved away from home.
And here I am, in university, wondering when I’m going to grow up again.
When will have a real job? When will I get a credit card? And buy a house? Buy my own set of measuring cups? Read Nicholas Sparks books?
I spend my whole life, just waiting. Waiting to grow up. I couldn’t wait to be sixteen so I could get my license. Then, I couldn’t wait to go to bars. Now I can’t wait to be done school. When does it end?
I wonder what it’d be like if I could pull out my bin full of toys and play pretend again. What stories would I create? I’d be a fashion model (because of course, I had all the best Bratz clothes), or a hippie, or a hairdresser, mother of two, or doctor. I’d probably be anything but a lonely, tired, university student who’s barely scraping by.
That was until a speech came on TV. I’d never heard it. But it caught my attention.
[insert Alan Watts Quote here]
“I wonder, I wonder what you would do if you had the power to dream at night any dream you wanted to dream,”
I sat on the corner of my bed, put my dirty laundry basket on the ground, and listened.
“...as you began on this adventure of dreams you would fulfill all your wishes. You would have every kind of pleasure you could conceive. Love affairs, banquets, dancing girls, wonderful journeys, gardens, music beyond belief.”
It reminded me of the days spent behind my couch, with my sister, in our own little world. Playing make-believe.
“You would move over to a sort of adventurers' dimension, where there were certain dangers involved and the thrill of dealing with things and you could rescue princesses from dragons, go on wonderful journeys, make wonderful explosions and blow them up - eventually get in contests with enemies. And then you would say well, like children that dare each other on things, how far out could you get? What could you take? Then you would get more and more adventurous. Finally you would dream...where you are now. You would dream the dream of living the life of you are actually living today.”
I paused it and pressed rewind.
For a second time.
And then a third.
Why can’t I make my own life like the ones I made for my toys when I was young?
Growing up isn’t real.
Growing up isn't walking away from the people who hurt you because it's the "grown up" thing to do. It's not keeping your job because "it's alright and the money's good." It's not what they told you it was.
Growing up is putting yourself in a box, marked with a “fragile” label, and “this way up” written on the side.
We spend our whole lives trying to work our way up. Be the best. Be the boss. Be anything than who we really are, right here. Right now.
We want to be anything but this living, breathing person sitting on the edge of her bed, dirty laundry beside her, eyes glued to the TV.
We want to be anything but the go-to-bed-early, dinner is at 5, don’t forget to stop for groceries, assignment due tonight person.
We want to do anything other than turn left on the same old streets, tell people everything’s fine when it’s not, make a post of a picture from last summer because we’re reminiscing.
We want anything other than what we have.
But the point is, we have it. We have the sun, we have our names, we have love and pain and truth, and oceans, and highways, and friends to sing in the car with and songs to sing to alone, we have dancing women, and banquets, and gardens, and concerts, music beyond belief, everything Alan Watts told us to dream about. We have all of this and yet we don’t want it. Or maybe, we don’t utilize it.
You don't have to put your dolls away just because you're a big-girl now. Big girls do whatever the hell they want.
So why don’t you just do what your heart tells you to do? Dance to your favourite song, so hard. Race home and turn on your favourite TV show. Get the colourful boots. Pull the bin of toys out from under the stairs and blow the dust off. When did growing up mean leaving everything you loved behind?
I feel myself running to the Tupperware box under the stairs. The cold concrete on my feet. I feel my fingers peel back the hard plastic, I can smell little Haleigh, playing, brushing Sasha’s hair for one last time.
Growing up isn’t being someone better, it’s not forgetting everything you knew. It doesn’t happen because you put your toys away. Growing up isn’t what we thought it is at all.
Growing up is realizing that make-believe is real. And that we stopped being creative when we put the toys in the box and forgot about it under the stairs. It's realizing that big kids stand up for themselves. It's eating pasta for dinner and going to bed feeling happy instead of guilty. It's looking around yourself at all the beauty, and the mayhem, and the faces, and the children, and realizing that you are already at the top. You are already the boss. You are already awake, living the dream you only wondered about when you were younger. You aren't playing make-believe. You are are making your life into what you always believed it might be.
Get creative.
What are you waiting for?
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