Its Easy to be Swallowed by the World

How much of oneself is sacrificed in our daily lives? How long do you give yourself away to plans, work, responsibilities and obligations before everything that you were as a child has been stolen and mummified by the world?

I am one small person on a fast-paced planet of disgusting facades and oppressive expectations. I was raised by a society of hypocrites who told me I could change the world and follow my dreams. Then, once that society established and instilled and imprinted those hopes and promises in me, it turned around and beat me for daring to hope to be different. Those dreams and hopes were unattainable, child talk and empty words, no one person has the right to hope that they will make a permanent impact, those few people who follow and attain those dreams have something that I could never hope to have.

My differences were slapped into place, and my daydreaming knocked out of me. The world tried changing me into something of mere function, all trust left in my future was viciously hacked at and cut down. I was too ugly, too loud, too dumb. I was to find a job, raise kids and die. No risks, everything’s fine, everything’s safeguarded, everything’s planned.

One blemish on the face of this planet, I am one pawn in a game played by billions. I am an insignificant person stuck in a life where everything’s already been done, a life that’s been laid out in front of me, just follow the yellow brick road and stay in the lines.

Society has injected into me a fear, a fear of being different, breaking the rules and of forging my own path through life. I’m afraid of risks, of speaking my mind, of hoping too much and dreaming too far.

But, another quieter, seductive, cold fear rumbles beneath all the others.

I’m afraid of myself.

I’m afraid of the child still clinging within me, the one that hasn’t yet been drown in the dreams it once thrived on. I’m afraid of that small, fighting part of me that was raised and nurtured on stories of dragon and wizards, love of puppies and fascination with snails; that creature of pure, simple friendship and innocent goodness.

I’m afraid of that child because I’m afraid I’ll let it win. I’m scared of trusting that part of me, the most vulnerable part, scared of letting it lead me off the path, through the bush’s and into the cold creeks and enchanted forests of an unmapped life.

To my advantage, that child I hardly dare to trust, has no fear to overcome. And why should she? Armed with naught but a tree branch and her faithful dog, that little girl befriended sea monsters and flew with the angels. She discovered the Bigfoot was really just a cry-baby, and all dragons were really the good-guys and just victims of territorial knights.

So, I guess society fudged a little. By letting us create those children within us, we’ve all been left with that small, fading spark that is willing to guide us all through darkest paths of our lives, if only we’re brave enough to trust them.