My life has always had a dense quality with magic woven in and around the seams. I was five years old, wearing pink and a side pony when I first put this feeling into motion. From the moment I woke until the moment my eyes closed for rest, I felt like I was made for something epic. My little chubby fingers were just hopscotch squares away from holding it in my arms. A good nights sleep and a dream catcher above my head only enhanced, or rather encouraged my daytime inklings. I would wake remembering every last color and detail with a fierce longing to fold it into my story by day. I wanted something more and yet I already had everything I could ever want. My dad would wake me each morning witnessing these theatrical eyes, opening my blinds and telling me, “it’s great to be alive!” This was only the cherry on top of a self-aware expedition for greatness. Now, I am at an age I glorified and looked forward to as a young child. My desire and wonder has yet to seize. Time has somehow always been on my side. Magic and colors ignite at every mundane opportunity, playing tag and I spy through my blood stream. I have unraveled life with my movement and sweet sighs, only to just now begin to find my voice, and use my words, quite literally. And now my voice is their childhood, the place from which they see this world, for now, or maybe forever. This is one of the most beautiful and terrifying things about being a parent, the power of every last word and belief I hold about myself and this world. How it can transcend my own reality, and absorb itself into theirs, how it can become them. Dear God, it better be good. So I am first becoming the woman I dream of but also the one I already am, and creating the childhood I dreamed of, while also sharing the one I had. Mine was good, but oh how I can make it so much better.
I once misunderstood, and maybe even judged women who I thought lived vicariously through their children. I am not so sure if they did, or if maybe I just saw it all wrong. Whether I missed something or suspected something unhealthy and ill intentioned, I will never know. Maybe I am no different, but all I know is that I am truly having the time of my life, even on the shittiest (literally) messiest, loudest, gut wrenching days, when I want to scream and cry (and I do.) Those are few are far between now. I feel right back where I started, still feeling child like but wearing age and intuition like I once wore pink and that side pony. Only now I see that this is my epic. Shared, doubled, quadrupled. Us. This is the magic I always felt and was called to share. It looks just like them, because it is them. It's us.