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I just finished reading The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch. It’s about the last lecture he gave at Carnegie Mellon University called Really Achieving Your Childhood Dreams. I’m not going to get into the finer details of the book here except to say READ IT, IT’S GOOD.
There’s a section in the book called Get in Touch with Your Crayon Box. His intention, during the lecture, was to give everyone a crayon and have them close their eyes and feel the texture of the crayon and smell it while he was talking about childhood dreams. I was so intrigued I put the book down and went searching for crayons. My daughter is 13 now so we don’t have them laying around. I finally found a small plastic bag of them in a box buried in the closet. I pulled a few out, closed my eyes and felt the texture of the paper and wax, then held it up to my nose and took a big whiff, just like he instructed in the book. I didn’t realize a little crayon could be so powerful! It took me right back to my childhood, to a time when my dreams were larger than life and before cynicism and self doubt moved in.
Two days after my crayon experience I was in the office supply room at work and there on the table was a coloring book. Wow, what are the odds right after my crayon encounter that I find a mysteriously unowned coloring book. I couldn’t help myself, I took one page out for my very own. Lucky for me, I found that treasure right before leaving for the day so I didn’t have to wait long to break out those crayons and start coloring.
It sounds like a silly exercise but it was inspiring and I urge you to do the same. If you can’t find any crayons around the house, go buy some, take them home, find a comfortable spot and reconnect with your childhood dreams. Remember when you dreamt of being a fireman or owning the biggest candy store in the world or being a princess or playing for your favorite sports team? Remember when you had no doubt whatsoever you would accomplish those things and anyone who told you different was just crazy or too old to understand?
Unfortunately, I don’t remember too many of my childhood dreams right now. But when I do, even if they aren’t dreams I have for myself today, I want to feel the way I felt when I was seven: that I can do anything, that nothing can stop me from being what I want to be or doing what I want to do. Not money, not parents, not society, not friends and most importantly – Not Myself. When I look back on my life and at all of those ‘I wish I would’ve‘ times, I realized that I have been the reason why I haven’t accomplished my goals. I have gotten in the way of my dreams. Me and my self doubt. I cherish this nugget of wisdom and knowing this has created so many other paths for me to explore.
What were your childhood dreams? Did you accomplish them? Or do you have that same wide-eyed abandon to your dreams now that you did when you were a kid?
If my life were slightly different I’d be a drug addict. A heroin addict to be exact. One who self-medicates. I don’t think I’d go so far as to be a junkie, I wouldn’t kill or rob or steal for my next fix – I’d be a functioning addict. I’d hide it from everyone and tell myself as long as I didn’t shoot up alone, I didn’t have a problem. I’d look forward to it and find more reasons why life would be better at that moment if I was high. I would rationalize and justify, I’m not stupid you know. I’m an intelligent adult and I know what I’m doing. You just don’t understand me, I’m complicated. I have all these emotions and feelings that no one else has. They’re exhausting to feel every hour of every day. I can’t escape it. I negotiate, I beg, I threaten but they won’t go away. Smack would be my savior. My lover. We’d fuck to make it all better. One continuous run of make-up sex. Don’t judge me, I’m not an addict, I’m managing my pain. My intangible pain, medically unexplainable pain. And it’s angry but it’s mine. Sometimes it’s a drunk and jealous ex-boyfriend, sometimes it’s controlling father, sometimes it’s a crazed murderer. I get no warning. But this, my heroin, it calms the storm. It rocks the pain to sleep and tip-toes out of the room. It talks it off the ledge. It pries my finger from the trigger. It never let’s me down. I’m not an addict I just need it.
I’m not an addict.
My brain and I are wrestling today. She wants to play Queen of the Kingdom of Empathy and beseech her Minions of Emotions to fester in my chest until I unravel. I, on the other hand, would like to process things like you humans do with filters and compartments and recycling bins and conveyor belts – wiping down after each one in preparation for the next. She’s relentless and has a good argument:
“You want to be a writer”, she asks, “Then you have to feel all of the feelings as if they were your own, then your pen will know the words to write.”
My less than feeble reply placates her for now, “If you call off your Minions at once I promise to read to you every night so you can experience a rainbow of emotions and spare my poor soul your voracious appetite. I will put my pen to practice day and night until I find my voice.”
Venture! Venture out beyond the leash on your soul. Leave your slumber behind and let candor tempt control. Tell your heart to tag along too, there’s nothing left to do here. Uncertainty doesn’t exist, only bravery will devour your fear.
“You’re now tuned into the mutha fuckin’ greatest”
Jay Z
