Young Magic 6/30/2024

By: Jennifer Richardson Holt

I heard it said recently that there will never be more people on this planet older than you than there are right now. I paused. I considered. That makes sense, the number younger than me will rise.  Then I gave this fact a bit more deliberation and realized that the number of people who are older than me will forever be decreasing. This was a far more sobering concept and one that I cannot say was particularly palatable. This reality was one of several as of late that have reminded me of my age and how, in this season of my life, things are very different than they were before.

I have noticed something for a while that has bothered me, and I have tried to push it to the side. Before I became a mom, I didn’t have all that much reason to put any stock in it or let it overly concern me. But it is definitely a very real challenge for me now.  While I used to be an absolute master, I am no longer very efficient at playing pretend anymore. I was an only child, so it was nothing for me to go out in the forest behind my home and spend hours and hours in all sorts of imaginary worlds with countless characters and scenarios. I can remember so many absolutely lovely occasions leading to wonderful adventures.  I can remember using a huge river cane as a staff. Then sometimes it was a flag. Then sometimes it was something entirely other, some magical tool or weapon that doesn’t actually exist but that day, in the oaks and pines of central Alabama, it did.  Those were some of my best childhood memories.

One very special scenario that I remember from back then was how much I loved the time right before a storm. The sky would be shades of slate and the clouds boiled and swirled. The wind would whip about and something about that was absolutely ideal for using my imagination. Pretending some enchantment had conjured up those winds and they were some means to a magical end was one of my absolute favorite things to do as a child and even a bit older than a child. I still love being outside right before a storm. I tried to impart that sense of wonder to my daughter, who is more than adept at imagination. I could tell you some stories, and, in thinking about it, I have, so if you’re a regular reader, you know. 

Only a few days ago those precious few blustery minutes presented themselves and she and I were out in the back yard. I decided to share with her the imaginative applications I used to embrace during such times. I showed her how I would lift my hands as my hair swirled about my face and gestured as though I had called to the winds, and they were answering and prepared to do my bidding. I taught her to listen to the sound of the wind in the trees like rushing water. I made sure she knew to listen for the volume increasing so she would know a gale was on its way so she could convincingly summon it to do her bidding. And yes, there were times I was the bad guy when I played this game and I happen to know she isn’t opposed to a bit of pretend wickedness either. But I digress.

She took to it like a fish to water. She danced about wildly talking to her invisible minions and explaining her intentions to the characters in her tale. I couldn’t help but stand back and smile at her methodology. She did some good work. But she wanted me to participate and do the magic with her. Of course, I thought to myself. I can totally do this. This was my thing back in the day. But no. I suppose it was age that had ruined me, but the suspension of disbelief was nearly impossible. I tried and did a bit. I managed to show her a quality villainess voice that I pulled from The White Witch circa a 1986 PBS version of The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe.  She employed her own version with skill. But beyond that, everything felt very forced. I couldn’t make it feel as fantastic as it did when I was younger. It was all just me flailing about. Silliness was the word to came to mind as much as I loathed the description.  My brain just wasn’t seemingly capable.  Maturity had seemingly ruined my ability to make imagination become reality. Even in play I just couldn’t truly make it all convincing in my mind. As I stood in the wind and watched my daughter have a glorious time, I couldn’t play the part. I genuinely tried.  It felt forced and certainly not the fun I remember from long ago.

My daughter happily played until the rain began to fall.  She went inside with a new addition to her imaginary repertoire, and I came in with a complex. I can still read a book and imagine all its wonders in my head, but apparently in an application scenario, things don’t come as easily as they use to.  I suppose the older I get that will be the story of my life.  Hopefully I’ll stumble onto some something that will be an only when your older type accomplishment.  In the meantime I’ll read and quietly employ my imagination while my daughter does so animatedly and with passionate involvement. And I will be sure to let her know when a storm is on its way.