Coming Home

A lithograph that has hung in my bedroom since I was a child.

Life is a fascinating journey; at times, it is more like an amusement park ride. Sometimes you are on the merry-go-round, at other times, you find yourself cheering at the heights and shrieking as you plunge into darkness on your own personal roller-coaster. At one time or another, you may find yourself wandering through the fun-house, peering at your misshapen reflection in distorted mirrors, and wondering aloud “Is this who I am?”

Yesterday’s gift from a lifelong friend caused a stirring deep within. It was a story, a little ditty that I penned as a child. I read it in wonder… and began to ask myself questions: Why did it take me so long to realize that I was a storyteller? What happened to that fearless young girl?

Of course, I know what happened. Life happened, and all of the machinations of growing up. I’ve survived bad relationships… and let the wounds caused by them own me. I’ve allowed toxic, jealous people to ridicule me, to poke fun at my dreams, and to make me question my worth. In the pursuit of so-called adulthood, I abandoned my magical child.

In a 2009 TED speech, Eve Ensler spoke of the importance of embracing one’s “girl cell.” That the power that the child has is such a force to be reckoned with, that society strives to destroy it. I wholeheartedly agree, and would suggest that we take this one step further – that universally, it is time for to reclaim the magical child. It is time to come home, and to awaken the child within. To nurture it. To support it, to let it guide us, to allow it to be the fire within, and by doing so, heal.

To do so is to live your life organically, and follow your natural destiny. For our magical children are the stuff that dreams are made on.

Now, go write.

HRH, Princess Scribe

Advertisements

About princessscribe

#Filmmaker. Living with #Cancer. #Animal lover and foodie.
This entry was posted in Today's Blog, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

8 Responses to Coming Home

  1. dehelen says:

    Yes. My inner child has an alter ego. Yesterday I named her: Bessie. It sometimes takes years to heal that inner child, Annie. Writing is the way!

    Like

  2. Ahmed Ndao says:

    I’m writing to survive as I once wrote intention letter when I did a contest (and won). If not life will kill all talent, wit, skills on you. Express yourself is good to “immortalize yourself” as Lou Reed put in a song.

    Like

  3. raytapia1932 says:

    Indeed, we are more often than not clobbered by the subtle elements in our society (consider the “people politics” in the work-place), affecting our self-confidence—until we (as you so aptly explained) protrude our self-worth above these adverse influences, doing so along our path to social maturity (wherever that point might be, if ever). PRINCESS, thanks again for putting our subconscious thoughts into a “tangible” history, evoking a vow to rise above OURSELVES! ,.

    .

    Like

  4. Parrish is one of my all-time favorites as well. I know I’m not alone when I say THANK GOD you did follow young Anne’s dreams. XOXO

    Like

  5. Frank Wood says:

    I once got an assignment in college to write an essay about what I would wish to come back as, were I to be reincarnated. I wrote I would want to come back as a gentle breeze that moved the hair of a child dreaming of his future life.

    I have an old black leather suitcase, which is now scarred and battered. The suitcase has been with me for over half a century now. The suitcase is crammed full of poetry and stories I wrote when I was a kid. When I read it now, I see the naivety and grammatical errors, but I also see the passion and idealism.

    I always saw myself as a writer. Someday, I always told myself, I would share my original passion and idealism with the world. I think my self-image as a writer sustained me and insulated me from the cruelty and hardship of a world too real for idealism. I was aloof from the onslaught because I was the observer, the chronicler of the horror, violence and poverty to which I was subjected by circumstance.

    It is true, as Wolfe has noted, “You Can’t Go Home Again”, but I think that one also takes his home with him on the road of life. Hemmingway noted one needs a “Clean Well-Lighted Place” in which to escape the loneliness of old age. I think one also needs a clean well-lighted place in which to write. Such a place came late for me, but my one thought now is to fulfill the contract I made with myself to leave a record of what I have learned and to do it with the passion and idealism of youth.

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s