We built a living room fort last rainy weekend and like any perfect fort, there were rules.
Rule One: No Adulting.
Rule Two: Only two dogs allowed in the fort at one time.
Rule Three: Grab a cocktail, snuggle in, turn on a movie.
Rule Four: No Boys allowed. Seriously!
It all happened by accident. The stupid shower curtain pole, the expensive $6.99 one, fell again; so, I went to the store and bought a top-of-the-line pole for $11.99. The more expensive feature when twisted, was supposed to lock into place for perfect curtain alignment.
I removed the little hooky-thingies from the fallen pole and like Captain America winning a mighty battle against Thanos, I plunged the end of the rod into the couch cushion. Because who wouldn’t do this? And then the light bulb exploded above my head. Instead of replacing that top-of-the-line new pole in the bathroom right away, I stabbed the other end of the couch and boom, child’s play knocked on the living room door.
We grabbed sheets and blankets to create a cove. We snagged our favorite pillows from the bed and snuggled into an evening of imaginary bliss while watching animated movies on the Disney channel.
Our fort became a sanctuary from the scary world outside. We escaped the terrors of bills and work anxieties. There were no thoughts of vacuuming or lawn care. Shadows danced on walls of Plato’s cave and for a moment, we paid no heed to the creatures that created those shadows. It felt safe—a kind of safe that only a child without any cares in the world could relish in.
Honestly, the only bad part was when my old-person bladder yelled for my attention. Leaving my sanctuary was frightening. Peeing meant that I had to push aside the light blanket, move my pillow, and step back out into the real world. But it had to get done or the new couch wouldn’t smell too new anymore. I ran down the hall in my socks to do my business, grab another cocktail, and scurry back to safety as quick as possible.
My point is that at some moment in our lives, we determine that naivety is below our mental status and we pretend to know everything. Our tempers flare out of fear—fear of paying the mortgage, fear that our adult children are going to therapy because we screwed them up, fear of–being innocent.
We worry about judgement from peers, siblings, and neighbors. We’re told we need to act a certain way to be considered a professional. This is probably why I didn’t make it in Corporate America. We’re told that magic and imaginary friends aren’t real. But deep down, we know they’re lying because alchemy is everywhere.
If I can offer one unsolicited bit of advice, it is this: When you pass by a public playground, grab a swing and feel the air under your butt. I don’t, however, recommend jumping off like we did as kids. Our joints aren’t ten years old. Also, don’t be creepy at the playground. You’ll get arrested.
Ugh! The Rules!