Why Peter Pan Never Grew Up

After several years of believing growing up is the worst thing to happen to an individual, I was finally coming to terms with the inevitable. The longer I am alive I will grow older. The older I am the more I am expected to do and know how to do.

After almost twenty years of life I finally got my ears pierced, took my driver’s test and got my license, and I got my first job. After achieving all of these things of which seemed wildly impossible to me years ago I began to think growing up wasn’t too bad after all.

But something in me kept getting pushed down deeper away from where I could see. A thought that lingered, but I didn’t want to touch it, like a rotten tomato growing in the otherwise beautiful garden of life. This was knowing that I don’t know what to do with my life; an unsure future as my rotten tomato feeding the hungry bugs.

I have built my life off of dreaming of ways to stop time. I guess that is why I come up with such wild stories. These stories take me away somewhere that isn’t my reality. Somewhere far where I can’t grow old and in characters who’s lives are timeless.

I often get mad at my beloved childhood hero, Peter Pan, because he never came to take me away. He never taught me how to fly. Why should he stay the same and I’m not allowed to?

Some days it’s not too bad being what is known as a young adult, but other days are brutal. It’s like looking at my face in the mirror and not seeing myself, but a twisted version of myself. On these days I look like a scary creature that has come from one of my darkest stories out of a forest of demons and ghosts.

I long for the moments where being who I am isn’t so awful; where growing up isn’t so scary. I only wish I could pick this rotten tomato from my limbs and grow something new and fresh. Something that I can live off of.

I am hoping I can achieve that as well soon. And if I can’t then I’ll live all of my life understanding why Peter Pan Never Grew up.


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