The Inaugural Ramble
As children, we’re ingrained with the morals and ideals we learn from fairy tales. As children who grow up with Disney fairy tales, we’re trained to be idealists. If you sing a song, animals will either sing along with you or help you with your housework. If you wish upon a star, your dreams come true. If you follow your heart and/or marry a prince, you’ll live a charmed life and/or live happily ever after.
I love Disney, but real life isn’t quite so enchanted, is it? This is perhaps one of the reasons I write. When I turn ramblings into paragraphs, that is my equivalent of asking for help from a yet unseen magical entity. (Fairy Godmother, where are you?) When I write fiction, that is my equivalent of being able to control the plot twists of unpredictable reality, of having the option to make life as serendipitous and glamorous as it is in the stories we love to read and the movies we love to watch.
So why do I say all this? Perhaps to put into context an emotion I can’t quite name. Currently, I feel like Belle, who’s certain “there must be more than this provincial life.” I feel like Pocahontas whose dreams extend “just around the river bend.” Granted, I neither live in a rustic little village, nor do I seek counsel from an old willow tree; but like these heroines, I feel as though I’m on the verge of something, eager for a grand adventure to happen. Perhaps my head is in the clouds; perhaps I haven’t outgrown the tales of my youth; or perhaps I’m ready to hop on a magic carpet and see a whole new world. Whatever this feeling is, I can relate to a little mermaid who didn’t know when or how, but was sure her story was about to begin.