I once believed in endless possibilities. Anything, absolutely ANYTHING, was possible. The world was a wondrous place, and I believed it all.
In my mind, Unicorns were real. It didn’t matter that my mom told me otherwise. She even pulled out the encyclopedia (this big set of books we used to have before Google) and proved it to me. But I didn’t believe her. Deep down inside, I just knew that one day I would catch a glimpse of this magical creature. I daydreamed about them for hours at a time, imagining our adventures together.
There were other things I believed in with the certainty that only a child with a grand imagination could. Pegasus was real and flying around when we were not looking. Characters in books were more than characters. They stepped off the pages and lived real lives. I believed in tree spirits. As a young child I often played, alone, under the boughs of the many trees in my backyard. They seemed to have distinctly different personalities: some were loving and gentle, while others where playful and mischievous. It was all perfectly logical to me.
Some of my certain beliefs were not cute or sweet. I believed in horrible monsters who hid in dark corners and waited for wandering little girls. I believed a creature lived under my bed at night. Evil: pure, unadulterated evil, lived and breathed in my world. I could feel it and see it, just out of the corner of my eye…I didn’t know until later that real evil lurked in some people I knew, and the dark corners would one day be my refuge…
Somewhere along the way I lost that belief in endless possibilities. When did it happen? Was it a gradual death that took place over a long period as I traded Barbie dolls and toy cars for long-haired boys and beer? Or did it happen suddenly, a lost innocence that occurred like a sharp intake of my breath when I met real evil? I’m not sure when or how it happened, but I do know I cannot go back.
I miss unicorns and tree spirits. I miss those times of simple faith. Believing is not easy at all for me anymore.