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