Faith, Trust, and Pixie Dust
Next On The Topic Of Spending Thinking About Peter Pan Quotes….
I’ve always wanted to believe in magic. In the fairy tales, the happy endings – the idea that dreams really do come true. I wanted to believe that fairies exist, miracles happen, romantic comedies aren’t too far off from real life, and dragons can actually be defeated by a single knight with a sword and shield.
Wanted to believe so strongly, in fact, that I made it my goal, my life mission statement, if you will. It was my intention to bring magic back into the lives of people. I wanted them to be able to look at me and see freedom, see a kind of joy they stopped having faith in when they grew up, and know that it exists. I wanted to follow Peter Pan’s example – to never grow up, not fully, and embrace wonderment like a child. To be like one of the Lost Boys in Hook, teaching Robin Williams how to play and have fun and to break out of the corporate prison he threw himself into. I wanted to live life like a song, to be passionate and daring and full of curiosity, because I knew that magic and goodness existed, and I had completely dedicated myself to be apart of it.
I’m learning now, however, that I’ve never really believed in it. Life’s been too hard. The stories I heard as a child, the ones that made everything real to me in the first place, were told to me by parents who don’t even seem to believe in what they taught. Even if they did, I’ve certainly never seen them live it. To me, happiness was always reserved for everyone else – everyone outside of myself. My life was filled with disappointments, struggles, pains, betrayals, rejections, and far too many dragons and not enough knights. How the heck was I supposed to believe in something I haven’t even seen exist, that doesn’t seem real? The entire world screams out at you that life is hard, happy endings don’t happen, and if you don’t screw up yourself, you’re forced to be forever doomed with the consequences of other people’s bad choices. I’m doomed to a life of minimum wage customer service, alone and abandoned, and every bit of the magic I “believe” in will never touch me.
After all, pixie dust doesn’t exist in the real world, and I will certainly never be able to fly. So why bother? After so much trash, so much chaos and misery, why would I even want to live and keep fighting, much less hoping for something beyond mere survival?
That’s me. But that’s not you, and I don’t get it.
We can all agree – your life has been shit. Compared to you, my own tragic backstory reads like the whinings of a spoiled brat. You’ll tell me it’s all relative, that there’s always someone out there who has it worse, and you’re nothing special. That there’s no point in comparing, or even thinking, about how my sadness measures up to yours. Different circumstances can have the same emotional response in people, after all, and the damage done is the thing to be considered, not necessarily the thing doing the damaging. So what if one of my most traumatizing events was the first time I had to cut my own nails? That’s still valid.
The point is, is that I don’t know how you’ve made it. Just a few months ago I was struggling on almost a daily basis to try to not kill myself, and that’s just because of my own stuff. But you? How the hell do you do it? A mixture of resilience and insanity, probably, with a few other things thrown into the mix, but I’m surprised you’re not dead yet. You probably are too, I dunno. It’s kind of ridiculous.
And yet, despite all that, you have the audacity to turn to me and tell me that you believe things are going to work out, that life will be better, that things can be happy, and that you’re going to try. You’re not just giving up. You didn’t stop believing in magic or whatever you wanna call it because of all the shit that’s happened – it’s like you believe in goodness because of it. You fight because you’re absolutely convinced that things will get better. So you take risks and put yourself out there, despite all the things that’ve happened to you before – trusting and hoping in the very same magic that I wanted so strongly to show to others.
You say I make you happy, that I brought some kind of enjoyment into your life, or something cheesy like that. That I helped you, or however you put it. I don’t want to put words in your mouth, so I won’t.
But me? I’m doing better now, sure, but I’m just a dumb kid trying to put the pieces back together in a life I’ve never really had any faith in, forcing myself to act as if I believe in happy endings and pixie dust, when I don’t. Not really. Not when it counts. So how could you ever think that someone like me is actually bringing that into the world?
That’s besides the point. Because you – you’re magic. You told me the other day that you’re actually happy to wake up for a change. You smile, laugh, joke around, get frustrated, stressed, relax the moment I even begin to play with your hair, and it’s all magic. Because you’re here. You’re living and fighting and you’ve made it through, are making it through, and you’re starting to see a brighter world because of it. It’s incredible. I look at you and I’m amazed and inspired and always left wondering – will I be able to believe in goodness as much as you do? Will I be able to say one day, with complete certainty, that I believe all the little happinesses and imaginings can come true like you can? I want to. I don’t know if I can, but I really freaking want to.
So thanks for bringing magic into my life when I needed it most. Thanks for teaching me new things every day, for believing in me, and helping me find the person I want to be – helping me become me.
You’re awesome, and I don’t think you’ll ever know how much I needed that. I’m sure I’d find my way and struggle along just fine by myself, but the fact that I don’t have to is kind of incredible. You inspire me and push me forward, challenge me, and bring so much bloody magic into my life it’s like having my own personal supply of fairy dust.
Which is pretty cool, so thank you.