When I was a girl, I wanted a pony, thought I was a writer and believed I had telekinesis. As an adult, my reality is really not that far off my childhood fantasies.
I don’t own a pony exactly, but I do have a short stocky horse that I call my pretty little pony. Honestly, as I child I thought a pony was really just a baby horse. It made perfect sense to me then. Apparently, that is not the correct technical meaning though. Huh. Good to know. Regardless, I will still call my old, 14-hand, sorrel quarter horse mare, my pony.
Since I didn’t own a horse back then, I would use my dreams of ponies to inspire some of my writing. I would write stories and poems about horses. My story horses were majestic beasts. They had a connection to their owner, who was always someone who resembled myself or someone I wanted to be. These horses were smart, helping their owner accomplish noble deeds. They carried themselves with such grace. Some, even flew. I wrote about other things of course, but horses were my go-to animal. I connected with horses…and I feel like I still do.
In one stories, my flying horse helped a brilliant, confident girl who had telekinesis. She would move things around for the good of other people. Sure she would make mind movements for the sake of laughter or ease. She was a kid after all. However, she never used this power to hurt people.
I think about this young girl with super powers and I realize, I am still her basically. No, I don’t really have telekinesis. (So there is no need to notify the government for them to come test me and try to harvest my powers. In reality, they are already using my skills for that matter anyway since I am a government employee and Army Reserve Soldier.) I do have the ability move things without physical force though. I can move things with my example, my words, my silence. It is not necessarily the form of telekinesis that I dreamt of, but I suppose it draws less concern among the public (and less medical probing). Over the years, I found that I have the ability to affect people. It has taken me years to realize this unfortunately. For years, I thought I was powerless, a victim at times. Other people did things to me. Other people manipulated me. Other people controlled the situation. This has not always been the case though. Of course, I cannot control the careless hurtful words of others. Nor can I demand they treat me with respect and love. But, I can control myself and my reactions. And through my own reactions, behaviors, words…or even silence, I can affect them. With my actions, I can escalate anger or love. I can inspire confusion or understanding. I can cause tears or laughter.
Overall, I can either accept how I am treated by others, or shut it down and walk away. I have the power to set expectations on how I want to be treated. If I carry myself with pride and confidence, people tend to treat me with more respect, more esteem. If I am down on myself and insecure, people seem to doubt me and walk on my opinions and feelings.
Of course carrying myself nobly is not always easy. Like most folks in the world, I doubt myself. Do I know enough about this topic to speak on it intelligently? Have I gained too much weight? Do these people even want to hear what I have to say? Did I do that task well enough to present? It is hard not to doubt ourselves, and there is a fine line between confidence and cockiness. This line tends to move each day too. Some days I can find it and walk it. Other days, not so much.
What I am discovering though, is that that little girl long ago was not afraid of who she was. She stood tall with her pony at her side. She wrote down her stories. And she moved things in the world to help others. That girl is still me. She may be older and bit less elegant, and her horse is shorter and a bit more frumpy. Nonetheless, she still rides with happiness and joy in her heart. She still writes her thoughts, her feelings, her stories. And, she still tries to move things in the world without force and the goal of making it better. After years of struggle, I thought that little girl was gone. She didn’t disappear. No, she is still there. She just got a little lost.
Because my pretend life showed me who I wanted to be. 🙂