Once upon a time I was a boy who believed. I believed in everything I could imagine. I would look at a drop of water hanging like a silver pendent from a velvet green, dew drenched leaf and imagine how the universe it contained within it might be. Nothing was defined for me and life was a theoretical string of adventures to savour and discover.
I am still searching and savouring. My cynicism is feigned because too much enthusiasm can leave a man looking dangerously perky in a public place. My worn veneer of worldliness is a thin parchment which can be easily pierced by the questions of an interesting and inquisitive soul. I love to sit and ruminate about all those ifs and buts and maybes that maturity should have kicked out of me. When I meet a truly flexible minds is a gymnastic pleasure.
There are those who would accuse me of not living in reality and not shouldering responsibilities. I can see that belief that there is a path and I am not progressing along it at a satisfactory pace. I have made decisions in my life. I took myself on a detour and, having bypassed all commonly defined notions of success, briefly found myself lost in an existentialist neverland. I chose not to turn back and I faced the consequences of my actions and found I was no longer lost.
Now I live my life free of many impositions or comforts. I have no partner, no home, no plans, no future, no children and no employment contract. I have taken the road far less travelled and beaten my own way along it. It’s no lonelier than the information superhighway fast tracking path I see others on but it is less busy and my low speed limit is rarely exceeded.
I’m not lost and I’m not Peter Pan. I am still that boy who still believes life is best lived as a string of adventures.