She builds worlds

It was a dance only I recognized. After laying down the final brick, her castle was complete. The Lego-creation began as just an idea an hour before but was now a three-dimensional object in front of her. She immediately jumped to her feet, threw her hands in the air, and burst into celebration.

As I watched, just a few feet away, I caught her eye, and her cheeks flushed. Shyly, she shrunk back as if to find a chair that wasn’t there.

I couldn’t help but smile because I knew that dance. It was the same awkward dance a boy would do more than twenty years ago. Whenever the last pencil mark was laid or final piece glued into place, the dance of a creative mind celebrating an accomplishment ensued. 

You see, when I was young, my creativity carried me through the day. It was a wild imagination, one that turned the most mundane into extraordinary. Waiting rooms turned into an artist studio and shopping malls became endless labyrinths waiting to be explored.

If I close my eyes I can still see the wobbly forts made of twigs in the grove near my home. The small collection of trees was a mystical wilderness from my perspective, requiring my hand-drawn map to navigate. The great “Black Beetle Forest” is what it was known as – at least, in my world. At one point, a partially dug tunnel to China resided in the middle of this woodland.

In most respects, it seems so long ago. But then again, like it was yesterday, I remember tying my shoes to race outside and play: armed with a head full of ideas and the imagination to bring them to life.

If I wasn’t drawing it, I was outside building my ideas into life. Exploring, creating, constructing — anything to exercise the buildup of creative energy. Castles rose before my eyes, pirate ships floated across my yard, and my little red bicycle became an imposing tank.

But a lot of life has happened since then. Gone are the days I would lace up my sneakers to play in the sun without a care in the world. 

I easily forget what it was to get lost in a world of imaginary places. Deadlines, schedules, and daily tasks – the worries of life quickly eliminate this childlike joy.

But now, I see it in my oldest daughter, an architect of imagination, armed with a bottle of glue and a few scraps of paper. Now I get to see her creativity come to life. I can choose to join her and recall what it was to live in such a world. Or avoid it and leave it a relic in the past.

These imaginary worlds are magical, but they can be delicate things.

So the charge to myself is one to foster that world. Journey back to it. Lace up your sneakers and go outside and play. Draw, paint, build, and get messy! 

We tell ourselves we can’t live without a care in the world any longer. But set those cares aside but for a moment just every once in a while.