ArtsAutosBooksBusinessEducationEntertainmentFamilyFashionFoodGamesGenderHealthHolidaysHomeHubPagesPersonal FinancePetsPoliticsReligionSportsTechnologyTravel
  • »
  • Books, Literature, and Writing»
  • Commercial & Creative Writing

Off on a Tangent

Updated on February 4, 2011

Where are those words...?

What's it like to grow up?  When do you know you've hit that moment?  Is it when you've finally learned not to be afraid of the dark, or when childish fighting between friends and acquaintances no longer affects your outlook on life?  Where does the critical breech from childhood to adulthood come from?  I feel in some ways I'll always remain a child; able to see through eyes unclouded by sorrow and pessimism, and see the world as a bright and beautiful place where wonder and whimsy reign supreme.  But that is very rare nowadays.  Responsibilities drag down that sense of pure electric current of the world.  Problems, stress, bills, relationship issues, promotions or lack thereof, and a zillion other things that rip our inner child from our souls until we are brainless zombies marching from one job to the other.  
I miss those nights of thinking in bed and wondering where Life may take me.  I'm only 23 but it already feels like my path has been drawn.  Maybe I don't want a path, a road.  Maybe I want a river, some stepping stones, a mountain, a dessert, and a forest so thick with trees it's hard to see ten feet in front of you.  Where's the hill drop off, is there a rotten log ahead, a fox den, a grizzly bear, a swamp filled with hungry alligators?
I haven't been able to write anything in a long time.  Creativity leaves with childhood.  Well, maybe mine does.  I don't want to be a drone, a zombie, a corporate tool.  I want to twirl and spin and jump and giggle like a dorky little girl.  I want to chase the bubbles, run until I can't breathe, and laugh until I cry.  Where is all of that?  Where are those words that used to spill from my mind like an open cloud, dripping and dropping and splashing to make puddles and ponds?  They've been buried alive and they've long ago run out of air.  Smothered and put out, just like my sense of childhood.  


    0 of 8192 characters used
    Post Comment

    • Neon_Letters profile image

      Neon_Letters 6 years ago

      My mind grow darker with the years and im only 22 but i still dream. i share your feelings let´s run in slow motion trough an open green field :P

    • Larael profile image

      Larael 7 years ago

      Thanks guys! I need to keep trying. Write write write!

    • Docmo profile image

      Mohan Kumar 7 years ago from UK

      'Maybe I don't want a path, a road. Maybe I want a river, some stepping stones, a mountain, a dessert, and a forest so thick with trees it's hard to see ten feet in front of you.'

      Magical words. From the evidence of what I am reading, Your creativity has definitely not left you. It is alive and well, hopping and skipping on those stepping stones and sitting by the river, watching the stream go by.

      Reality clogs the shutters of our child's window. I wrote something called 'stories of the wind', lamenting the loss of child's eye view of the world and asking to break open and take a breath of fresh air. You share the same feeling!

      well done , this is beautiful.

    • Julie2 profile image

      Julie2 7 years ago from New York City

      Love this!