It's Never Too Late to Have a Happy Childhood

So, here I am, pushing thirty…yeah, pushing it as far away as possible. For the last ten years it seems I've been fighting that battle to be seen as a responsible adult. Now I'm here - living in adultland - with a real career, car payment, health insurance, and even a dependent (well, a four legged-one), and more than ever I am desperate to get back in touch with those childish pleasures. Why does it seem like growing up means giving something up? Isn't there a way to have my cake and eat it too?

The first thing I miss about my everyday life as a child is the never-ending possibilities of "let's pretend." Whether I was an elf on a quest with my wolf friend or a princess who fights her own battles, life was limitless. I was in constant choose-your-own adventure mode. I was never a bored child because I didn't know how to be bored, not when I had my imagination.

Movies and books weren't just a distraction either, they were a door opening to put myself into some other time or place. I was constantly creating sequels in my mind (and sometimes on paper) inventing new characters (played by me) to help Marty McFly fix the past or Indiana find the treasured artifact. I made up elaborate stories for the sordid lives of the Muppets who I was convinced lived in my closet. I performed elaborate shows for friends, family, anyone who would listen.

As adults we consider this child's play. But isn't there some value to the imagination, for use other than the practical applications. True some jobs make use of the imagination. I've even been fortunate enough to hold down one of those jobs (teaching), but it's not the same as the daydreams created for only their own sake.

And now I'll admit it, I still imagine. Sometimes it's as simple as people watching - I'll sit in a café or somewhere listening in on strangers and creating their backstory. Sometimes it's me who's far, far away, saving the universe or simply winning an Oscar for Best Screenplay. I may continue to grow old, but I refuse to lose my imagination.

When I was little I was also absolutely fearless. I'd ski down a black diamond without a second thought. I'd ride a rollercoaster again and again, climb trees like a monkey, or explore any unknown territory. Now that my mortality is becoming more apparent I'm less inclined to take risks, and sometimes that just plain sucks. I suppose there are still plenty of adult thrill seekers out there in the world but I'm not one of them.

In my defense, I have taken some chances as an adult: moving to a new part of the country, trying a new job, and recently thinking more and more about having kids of my own. If that's not a risk I don't know what is. And, as my father so wisely pointed out, knowing your own mortality is its own gift. Now as an adult he realizes that time is precious, that he shouldn't waste it, and he chooses to make every moment count. I still think it's too bad I use the excuse of age to prevent me from trying something new, but with age comes wisdom, and less of a chance to do something just plain stupid.

The really annoying thing about being an adult is that it is no longer acceptable to have a temper tantrum. Can you imagine…throwing yourself on the ground, screaming and flailing about on the floor of the videostore because there are no more copies of the movie you wanted? Or how about at a fancy restaurant because they are out of the grilled ahi special, the waiter and manager rolling their eyes whispering, "Someone didn't get their nap today." (And don't get me started on the nap issue, either, or I'll start my diatribe on why the merits of a nap end when you reach a certain age.)

Ah, the temper tantrum. What pure exaltation to express your utter frustration and have the only punishment be a time-out or no desert. Instead as adults (most adults) we are ruled by embarrassment, knowing how ridiculous one looks when they make a scene in public. Now that wisdom has come to bite us in the ass.

I've still found a few ways to get out my childishness. A fit here and there, in the privacy of my own home, or a good long cry when needed. Or I've set my creative mind to task, ripping up all those old memos from my crappy office job and creating a piñata that I can smash to bits at my next party. I guess I've learned something as an adult - anger can be used constructively. Think of the many stand-up comics out there who've turned their pitiful hatred into hilarity for all.

So maybe that little girl isn't gone and forgotten. Maybe she sits patiently in the crevices of my mind, waiting for an opportunity to burst out if only for a moment. When I'm grocery shopping and the muzak plays an 80's hit, and I can't help but sing out loud despite the looks from other patrons. Or as the credits role and I don't want the movie in my mind to end, and so I won't let it. I can only hope that even when I'm seventy I'll still ask myself on occasion, "can Lesley come out and play today?"