“The turning point in the process of growing up is when you discover the core of strength within you that survives all hurt.”
This song has been haunting me, echoing through my mind like a voice down an empty hallway. We have all been “lost boys,” at one point or another. Whether we’re lonely, trying to find our way, or just plain old mischievous and free of obligations. The funny thing is, the lost boys actually had a large group of friends, yet were still considered lost.
Perhaps you too have been part of a crowd but still felt like you didn’t quite belong. I first heard the song wafting over the radio airwaves on a dark night time drive, and again at a beautiful dance recital that was punctuated with the feeling of endings(a last dance for High School Senior students. I love music because it has a way of expressing and relating nearly every emotion through it’s sonic landscape. I always said when I died I wanted to become a music note. As a musical note I could weave in and out of space and be emitted over waves of sound. As well as touch people’s hearts. When you’re a music note your essentially immortal and always a part of something beautiful. Of course we can’t talk about Peter Pan without mentioning Captain Hook. What is your personal Captain Hook? Because we all have one. He comes in the form of opposition, negativity, and hardships. When we’re looking to find our way and having hope for a future each of us becomes a “lost boy.” Then, we grow up much to our chagrin and the tribe of lost boys scatters. No longer do you have that adolescent camaraderie and sense of adventure. As the world becomes less new and your feet change sizes, so does our reality and the people in it. Suddenly adult obligations or responsibilities begin to seep into and take apart the tribe of lost boys. However, the invisible thread that at once connected us is always there. We may grow and change but our hearts and spirits remain largely the same. Sometimes the wind will carry a tune to my ear or a familiar smell to my nose and gently remind me of my tribe. Although they’re scattered about I know that their still there. Having a stroke has displaced me as a lone tribe member looking for the path to our hideout in the woods. As I wander I keep an eye out for it to emerge once again from the shrouded trees. Dear friend, may We all discover that path and find our way back to belonging.
pals & pixie dust,