Saying Goodbye to Peter Pan

Before the Internet, Netflix, and all forms of easily accessible entertainment, my generation depended on our VCR. My household ran a few tapes daily, with only the space between lasting long enough for a quick rewind. The movie I remember the most was “Hook”. It was a classic among my whole family, whose ages and genders greatly varied. Still, this movie brought us all together around the television, made us laugh, cry, and left our imaginations tickled.

On Monday night, I felt the unanimous jaw drop of the entire nation with the news that actor/comedian Robin Williams had passed away. I’ve seen most of his films including favorites like Patch Adams, What Dreams May Come, and Goodwill Hunting. In fact, just last week I enjoyed Dead Poets Society for the thousandths time, another reminder how special Robin was. But when I heard the news of his death and longtime battle with depression I could only think of Peter Pan.

The film Hook was truly the beginning of my love for Williams. Like many of us morning his death, I didn’t know him personally, but his films always brought thought provoking discussions to our family dinner table.

He had a way of choosing roles that added value and understanding around tough situations.

For example, as a child I related to the movie Mrs. Doubtfire and the tension divorce can bring into a home, not just for the kids but for the adults too. Another one that helped me through my childhood was The Bird Cage. In the 90’s, against popularity, Robin boldly took on a role as a gay man with children. My dad came out in 1996 just as this movie was released, allowing me to laugh, feeling less secluded from the outside world and providing me with a different perspective. A better one. 

I just wanted to take a moment today and use this platform to thank Robin Williams for his lovely contribution to our world. I imagine his last moments were the truest depiction of a great battle against depression, but maybe, wherever he sits now, he can see the outpouring of love throughout our country. I can only imagine a comedic genius like him arriving at the pearly gates and God saying,

“Two jews walk into a bar…” and the laughter rolls on.

Thank you Robin. Goodnight Peter.

Journeys.

Aboard an aircraft, after being seated, locked in, and conducting a brief introduction to the stranger next to you, one is lifted off the ground saying good-bye to the outside world. Quite literally, the earth disappears beneath you, giving you the opportunity to breathe, think, sleep, or reflect. I’ve taken this type of journey many times in the last few years. In fact, I would go as far as saying I am almost a professional. I know exactly what I need, what I like, where I should sit (never too close to the bathrooms or too far away) and what airline foods I prefer. These journeys never feel wasted, especially with my journal and favorite pen in hand. By now I’ve realized that each time the distant world shrinks, without the nuance of lingering distractions, quiet revelations are drawn out.

My latest taunts across the Atlantic were both experiences I took with hesitation. I say “hesitation” because to admit that I was scared sounds petty. The fact is, I’ve done so much traveling either alone or just with my husband, I didn’t feel adequately prepared to be in another country with my mom and my step-dad, let alone my teenage step-daughters. I felt an immense amount of pressure to make both trips flawless, as well as a deep sense of frustration that I may not get the alone time I crave. What can I say, except to admit that I am a selfish introvert. It takes more time for me to latch onto new ideas, feeling comfortable and content than the average Jane. Personally, I prefer to process things alone, with only the sound of my pen stroking private pages. These trips took me far away from my comfort zone (as new countries often do) by challenging my self-proclaimed introvert ways, and most importantly, expanding my capacity for love.

In Spain, I watched my mother get all dressed up in one of the many boutique shops. The sales woman paid special attention to her, wrapping her in extravagant clothing by famous French designers. She picked every detail to match my mothers taste, down to the earrings and necklace. I watched as the little girl in my mother immerged. I’d always seen her as “mom” but in that moment I saw the young woman inside her giggling, laughing, and spinning in the store window. I had lived with that young girl for most of my life, and yet, I was meeting her for the first time in a Spanish boutique. With that, my love for her grew.

In Paris with my step kids, we planned a day to take family pictures in front of the Eiffel Tower.  I walked down the steps of our hotel room expecting to find the spry teenage girls I’d known for 5 years, but they were gone. Standing in front of me, dressed in black, there seemed to be grown women. I watched as they carried themselves to the Eiffel Tower, much like Audrey Hepburn, with class and dignity.  Many stopped to admire them and how could I blame them? These three tall, beautiful women in black were something from a storybook.  Their smiles stole the hearts of many that day, including mine. I was getting a glimpse of the women they would eventually become; my heart soared.

Also in Paris, we met up with our Frenchy friend Brieuc who dropped his entire day and schedule to spend it with our family. He played paparazzi for us as we posed in front of the world’s most famous tower and knowing only a little English, tagged along all day, trying to keep up with our fast conversations. Towards the end of the evening we sat at the top of Montmartre as Brieuc played his guitar and sang.

 

Eventually the night dimmed and it was time for him to leave. He cried, expressing his sadness that he could not stay longer. Once we arrived back at the hotel, it was late and we were exhausted but we found a note on our door with a special message for each of us. He had spent a considerable amount of time driving to our hotel just to leave this note before heading out of the city. My heart expanded with each kind word and selfless thought.

I’ve heard it said, “Aboard an aircraft, one is not so much carried somewhere, as they are carried away”. My journeys across the Atlantic carried me far, not just physically but emotionally. They’ve allowed me to see the people I thought I already knew in a different light, bringing a new and adventurous spirit to my soul, and memories I will not soon forget. As my reality resurfaces and my routine sets in, I am reminded to keep close the times above the clouds and the moments of stepping onto new soil. Travel has changed me in a continuous, yet barely perceptible way, which is why I plan to continue a life of unexpected adventures at higher elevations, without hesitation. Truly, a journey is better felt than seen.

 

25.

It was 1996; The sky was bright blue, the clouds shifting in silence above the heads of 6 bright-eyed children. I was among them, bobbing my long blonde hair in the water, pretending that my legs were somehow connected, swinging them back and forth. I remember the elated feeling of being in the cold water on that warm day, my mom’s eyes closely watching as I played with a group of my friends in our backyard pool. In that moment I was overcome with life. I could be whatever my mind could imagine, whether it was a sleeping beauty, a ninja turtle, or a beautiful mermaid; I was totally unafraid.

Then I blinked.

I’m a freshman in high school, feeling pushed into the unknown and terrified. I had gained a little weight (okay a lot), suffered from low self-esteem, and shy. The sweat from one of my armpits was unforgiving as I prepared myself to meet my older counterparts and sit with classmates twice my size. It was horribly embarrassing, so I withdrew from hugging anyone and of course, never raised my hand in class. I was nervous almost all of the time, hiding it from others by over exaggerating my darker side. I dyed my hair brown, wore mostly black, and kept to myself; I was secluded.

Then I blinked.

Now I’m just 17, although, if I’m being completely honest, I don’t remember much. I had recently moved back from a short stint in California and was just trying to regain a sense of self. I tried alcohol. I tried drugs. I had sex. I forgot a lot and made plenty of mistakes. I was lost.

Then I blinked.

Nineteen years old and living on my own in downtown Salt Lake City. Fate had struck me with some luck and I scored a great job making decent money and I was young hearted for the first time in years. Sure, I was with the wrong boyfriend and had my ups and downs, but I was finally starting to gain my independence and learning to be responsible for my own actions. I stopped blaming my parents for my mishaps and began what would be a blossoming relationship with them both. I found a group of friends who were uplifting, self-encouraging, and free. I was excited.

Then I blinked.

Skip to 2010 and I’m madly in love. I would say this was the kind of love that happens in fairytales but I would be lying because it was much more than that. It was a real love, intense, and familiar yet compromising. It held a depth I couldn’t have dreamed up and with it came a whirlwind of new experiences. I was engaged to be a new wife and step-mom. My confidence was through the roof and life seemed to fly past me with certain rage. I couldn’t contain my hearts desires or my minds rapid thoughts. Nor could I decipher the two from each other. I was free.

Then I blinked and I’m sitting at my computer, right now, condensing my youth on the eve of my 25^th birthday. Thinking back on all of the moments of my past quarter of a century. I look and sometimes my heart sinks with pain. Oh the mistakes I’ve made. Just as quickly, I think of the shining moments, the adventures, and the growth. Oh, my heart soars.

I have experienced more joy than I deserve and more heartache than I would have ever expected, although I recognize I’ve become a better woman for it all. Still, as I reminisce, there is this part of me that wishes I could have changed some things. I wish I could have told my 7 year old self in 1996 to keep her imagination alive. To stay unafraid of the world and what people thought. I wish I could have told her to stay out of hiding in high-school, to shine, and raise both hands. I would have promised her that once she was out of that building and on her own, she’d realize that everyone was just as scared as she was all of those years. After all, we are all human beings battling our own demons.

If I had the chance, I would have changed nothing about being 17. I wouldn’t have even given advice because there is no way she would have taken it. In fact, I have let that part of my life go. It’s forgiven.

At 19 I would have asked her to stay proud of what she believe’s and to keep reaching for her highest potential. Dream big and keep smiling. I also would have mentioned a few boyfriends that were no good and a scary neighbor who I nicknamed “Bucktooth Billy Joe Hansen”… yeah, stay far away from him 19, he’s up to no good.

As for 21, I would have asked her to slow down. Take in the moments without planning your next event. Cherish your friendships because the next few years will test them. I’d suggest that she watches her back in the coming years because people change and so will she. Lastly, 21 deserves a round of applause for making me realize that good exists in everything; you just have to look a little deeper.

Right now as I sit alone, those are just a few things I am promising to remember as I move forward. The rest would be to love unconditionally but don’t make the mistake of being walked on. Set solid boundaries. Be more aware of life’s process, knowing that everything is temporary. This means you better learn to love yourself and gain a sense of independence. Keep laughing, and making crazy videos. Dress up, apply lipstick and throw on your favorite pair of shoes. Nothing is ever guaranteed except your attitude and the way you carry yourself.

Honestly, I have no predictions for the next 25 years because I know better than that. The only thing I know for certain is that I won’t let it pass me by without a few quiet moments to take it in…

Blink.

Dear”S”.

I think it’s time we break up. I know, I’m sorry.

Actually, if I’m being completely honest, I’m not sorry at all. I’ve been wanting to this for a while and I’ve known for a few months that it wasn’t working between us. When I met you in Miami last year, our relationship felt full of promise, love and excitement. But I must say, it’s been a bit tough around the edges.

Some people called you The Year of The Snake and in true form you were majestic but sneaky. At times your approach was more than I could bear, and at other times, it was perfectly centered for my soul. I couldn’t wrap my mind around all of the changes in color, shape, and size you took. Truly Snake, you swept me off my feet many times. I want to thank you for those experiences but respectfully ask you to let me go.

Call it a “love-hate” thing or whatever you wish as long as you don’t wish for an apology from me. I was in over my head when I made many decisions over the past 12 months. I’ll admit that much, but I do so with the knowledge that I did my very best. You’ve changed me unlike anything ever has by forcing me to face my fears. You tested boundaries I never knew existed and opened doors I thought were merely windows. I will miss those exhilarating parts of you.

In return for your kindnesses, I won’t ask for an apology from you either. This is because you’ve continually taught me that sometimes our human need for an apology is unnecessary. It becomes crippling. You’ve also taught me that I’m stronger than any “I’m sorry” anyone could offer.

I also wanted to clarify my gratitude to you for keeping my family safe throughout our time together. You’ve warmed my heart, taught me the value of the people I love most, and what it means to find a quiet moment alone to embrace the stillness. Recently you pointed out that I must face my negative emotions head on, instead of covering them up with all my positivity bullsh*t. Admittedly, you were passive-aggressive from the start, but your technique was heard loud and clear. Maybe it was exactly what I needed. From the winter coffee shop sessions, to the balconies of Barcelona, and the many new faces along the way, it was a wild ride.

Maybe if you aren’t too heartbroken by our recent demise (and I’m assuming you aren’t because you are a year and not a human), you can put in a good word to your friend “The Horse”.  I hear he’s tall, mature, strong on his feet, and unpredictable. Sounds like another crazy adventure starts soon and because of you, if I’m being completely honest, I am ready.

Yours truly,

H