We’ve all the played the game – when I grow up . . .
l want to be a princess. An astronaut. No wait. I’m afraid of heights. Princess it is.
As a child playing the game is ultra appealing and glamorous. You’re too young to limit yourself. You want to be a rock star, but you’re tone deaf and don’t know a guitar from a ukulele. Who cares.
You get to live in this perpetual state of bliss that someday – when you grow up – life is going to be so much better than it currently is. You’ll get to stay up late. Watch whatever you want on TV. And eat whatever you want.
Eventually you grow up. The wonder ceases and reality sets in. You can’t stay up late because you have to work tomorrow. There is nothing good on TV. And your metabolism has slowed to a crawl, so everything you eat goes straight to your hips. And thighs. And gut.
You discover there are limited princess or rock star positions available, so instead you do this. Then that. Then this. And that. When really, all you want to be is a princess.
You stop playing when I grow up because you’re supposed to be grown up. Which just plain bites. Being a grown up should mean you now have the luxury to no longer play the game but live it. Instead, we often settle for our current lot in life, and when I retire becomes our new favorite game.
Well I’m a grown up. And I don’t want to play when I grow up or when I retire. I want to play right now. Right now I want to be a princess. And a rock star. And a writer. And be happy. So I am. Even if the only person who thinks I’m a princess is me, then so be it.
I am a princess.
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Your Dad thinks you’re a princess, too.