We all have fairy tales in our heads. They are read to us as children, we read them to ourselves and, in some unfortunate instances, we hold on to them thinking they represent a reality that can be copied and brought to life in our lives. When the Cinderella story or Beauty and the Beast or whatever, and true life don't match, but we continue to hold tightly to the tail of the fairy, trouble ensues.
Here's what I know for sure: fairy tales can be injurious to your health. I suspect that it's better to deal with reality, as ugly as it may perhaps be, than deal with the long term consequences of not having handled the truth about your life. Your prince may not come; you may spend your life the step-child of a mean b*tch of a parent; you may prick your finger more times than you care to think about and no rescuer may appear, charging in on his trusty white steed. So it is. This is life. None of this means that there can be no happiness, just perhaps, that what happiness exists won't be of the fairytale sort.
Several weeks ago, I had the opportunity to see first hand, what some of this living in an alternate reality looked like. It was not pretty. Not only was it not pretty (in my humble opinion of course) but it seemed also to prevent the tale-dweller from approaching the challenges of her present situation with anything akin to a grasp on the severity of their situation.
I won't go in to all the gory details of the situation but will offer this as my exhibit one: I met someone recently who lives in a slightly rundown home with her 70+ year old housekeeper (replete with apron (in 2011!!)). Late at night, certainly at a time when most 70 year olds would be a-bed, this housekeeper was kneading dough for breakfast pastries. The lady of the manor, meanwhile, had long since retired to her suite, having been served dinner in bed, on a tray and covered with a cloche. Ah, post-colonial society!
There was an oddly sad old world (read: 1940's upper middle class Trinidad) feel to the entire thing. Milady was surrounded by her silver spoons and pewter utensils, but there were termites in the roof and a general air of disrepair hanging over the establishment. Milady however, was committed to her servant-in-an-apron-serving-me-dinner-in-bed existence. It was what she knew and in spite of her current realities, it was how she continued to live. My life probably has the same disconnects to folk looking in from the outside.
The disconnect between objective reality - termites, outstanding repair work and the general air of disrepair - and her subjective reality was so stark as to be mind boggling to me. To her, this was all real. This was the world she frequented, maids in aprons and so on. I would only ask that if anyone who knows me well, sees me drifting into an alternate universe, you drag me back. Quickly. Please remind me that the prince is not coming, there is no trusty white steed (and if there was, it has long since been euthanized) and that happily ever after (plus housekeeper in an apron) is for the birds. Reality may bite but I suspect that fantasies bite even harder when allowed to run amok.
Here's what I know for sure: fairy tales can be injurious to your health. I suspect that it's better to deal with reality, as ugly as it may perhaps be, than deal with the long term consequences of not having handled the truth about your life. Your prince may not come; you may spend your life the step-child of a mean b*tch of a parent; you may prick your finger more times than you care to think about and no rescuer may appear, charging in on his trusty white steed. So it is. This is life. None of this means that there can be no happiness, just perhaps, that what happiness exists won't be of the fairytale sort.
Several weeks ago, I had the opportunity to see first hand, what some of this living in an alternate reality looked like. It was not pretty. Not only was it not pretty (in my humble opinion of course) but it seemed also to prevent the tale-dweller from approaching the challenges of her present situation with anything akin to a grasp on the severity of their situation.
I won't go in to all the gory details of the situation but will offer this as my exhibit one: I met someone recently who lives in a slightly rundown home with her 70+ year old housekeeper (replete with apron (in 2011!!)). Late at night, certainly at a time when most 70 year olds would be a-bed, this housekeeper was kneading dough for breakfast pastries. The lady of the manor, meanwhile, had long since retired to her suite, having been served dinner in bed, on a tray and covered with a cloche. Ah, post-colonial society!
There was an oddly sad old world (read: 1940's upper middle class Trinidad) feel to the entire thing. Milady was surrounded by her silver spoons and pewter utensils, but there were termites in the roof and a general air of disrepair hanging over the establishment. Milady however, was committed to her servant-in-an-apron-serving-me-dinner-in-bed existence. It was what she knew and in spite of her current realities, it was how she continued to live. My life probably has the same disconnects to folk looking in from the outside.
The disconnect between objective reality - termites, outstanding repair work and the general air of disrepair - and her subjective reality was so stark as to be mind boggling to me. To her, this was all real. This was the world she frequented, maids in aprons and so on. I would only ask that if anyone who knows me well, sees me drifting into an alternate universe, you drag me back. Quickly. Please remind me that the prince is not coming, there is no trusty white steed (and if there was, it has long since been euthanized) and that happily ever after (plus housekeeper in an apron) is for the birds. Reality may bite but I suspect that fantasies bite even harder when allowed to run amok.
