Meaning is a Matter of Perspective.
Does your perspective matter?
When you were little you had a lucky keychain. A teddy bear with a rip in it that you loved anyway. An imaginary friend. You had a favourite everything: colour, number, crossing guard, Arthur character, freezie flavour. You made things that “didn’t matter” matter.
And you were happy.
Now what do you have? Well, maybe you have a project in the back of your mind that you’re always working towards. Maybe you’re volunteering somewhere that makes you feel important. Maybe you’re studying something you’re passionate about. Maybe you’re in love. Maybe with a person, maybe with an idea, maybe with your job, maybe all three!
Are you happy?
As you as happy as you were when you were a kid?
Do you care about things that matter?
Do you care about things that “don’t”?
Imagine if you still had the capacity to feel as much as you did as a child. If you could pick a leaf off the ground and see an airplane, without feeling silly about it. If you could tell your friend a story you imagined about a dragon and a spaceship without being embarrassed. Imagine if you still imagined stories about dragons and spaceships.
Of course, in an adult world, seriousness is a necessary precaution if you’re hoping for respect. And a lot of times, in order to make a difference in the adult world, you need to have some of that.
When I was a kid, I promised myself that I was never going to become like adults. I was never going to submit to “boring” pastimes – like watching the news, or cooking stuff, or going to work. I was going to be able to find people who would listen to my stories, and build zoos with me, and find parades to march in. I was not only disappointed by adults, but disgusted by them.
Now I know the truth of the matter is that some things have to stop mattering when you get older.
Practicality reigns.
You can’t save all your ticket stubs and trinkets, because you don’t have enough drawers.
You can’t spend your life writing down stories for fun, because even paper and pens cost money. And sometimes there’s no one around to listen to you.
You can’t be friends with everyone you meet because sometimes strangers are uncomfortable with that. And sometimes they want to kidnap you.
Instead of getting upset every time we have to throw a souvenir away, we decide that they don’t matter. Instead of regretting missed opportunities, we ignore strangers. We adopt the mentality that sacrifices need to be made in favour of survival.
I know my child self would be surprised that I read the news, that I have two jobs, that I think coffee tastes good, and that I sometimes wear heels. But I think she’d also be glad. Glad that I found a way to think cooking is fun. Glad that I still have an imagination, that I still write stories, that I found people to read them. She’d be glad that I’m in school for something I care about, something I enjoy, instead of something that’s leading me towards a sturdy career.
And she’d definitely be glad that I’m trying to collect five hundred hats in five hundred days.
I wish more people appreciated the wisdom of their child-selves.
I wish more people understood how great it is to let things matter.
