The hardest part about being magical is pretending to be ordinary
You only had to be around adults for a very short time when you were a kid to know that something happens to your magic when you grow up. Adults are so grumpy all the time and just too busy trying to tidy the world up around them in an effort to sort out the chaos in themselves. It’s hard to watch. They can’t help themselves. If it looked like a fun thing to do, you could always count on a pestering force in the shape of a big human to squeeze the last droplets of joy out of whatever you were doing with a reprimand or a smack for giggling just a little too much at life. It’s like they didn’t see how spectacular the everyday world could be in every moment, too wrapped up in the crazy pursuit of i’m not exactly sure, but i think for whatever was out of reach. In my careful observation as a kid, nothing brought this out in adults more than when they decided they were in love with each other and built a house with a family around that idea. That’s when adults really dampened not only their own joy, but everyone else’s around them. They just didn’t have a clue or notice all the magic that was just pouring out around them, waiting to be felt. Instead they were too busy living for things due next Thursday all the time. No time to be enjoying the magic of today.
The funny thing is, big people mistake magic for things that are seen by a trick of the light, a phantasm, or worse a bunch of rabbits coming out of a hat. As a kid, the real magic was just feeling the breath coming out of my mouth as I ran to find my favourite hiding place in a game of hide and seek. The breath inside my mouth, loud and rhythmic and its tempo determined by the vicinity of the seeker in relation to me, quickening with the possibility of discovery. I would wait, poised in an almost life or death anticipation, the smell of freshly cut grass still on my skin from a previous game of Roly Poly down the hill. That smell would become a memory I would never forget linked to my life force. That was way back when i didn’t know that I too would grow up to be an adult where that racing heart magic becomes harder to locate. Rolling down a hill to feel that sense of being alive as an adult becomes an arranged, deconstructed experience centred around observation of a childhood feeling once felt and a grasping to recreate. It’s not the same. The newness of that first time feeling has been and gone. You won’t know this until you’re an adult. Feeling alive as an adult is a more subtle and harder pursuit of intangibles that can be neither orchestrated, nor presumed into existence, they are rarely felt without the help of props, but when they come they’re profound and it’s hard won magic. As a kid, you think you’re just surrounded by a bunch of adults who have forgotten how to have fun. What you don’t know is that it will one day happen to you. You will grow up and be an adult and sweat for every moment of joy. I saw this and decided then and there that i wanted no part of it. I would remain forever a child and be lifted from the mundane clutches of adulthood with the belief that i was still forever magical.