11/7/13
It’s around the time when those rad dudes you know are finished with their bitchin summer jobs and they’re gonna spend the winter in a far off place soaking in some rays, frisbee in one hand, beer in the other. I remember the Peter Pan days with a fond sigh.
As Fall ramps into Winter most of us in the Pacific Northwest can look forward to getting up in the dark and returning home well after the Sun. It’s not that chasing the summer is strictly for Pans, it’s that there’s no time.
For those of you unfamiliar with the term,
Peter Pan Syndrome: the condition in which a person esp. a male refuses the inevitable process of growing up.
This syndrome is most common among twentysomethings that have graduated from some form of higher education. They spend their time romping around the forest, crashing in whatever tree bunk will have them, and chasing mermaids while simultaneously rebelling against the man, Captain Hook if you followed the metaphor.
For those of you who feel that Panhood has passed, you may be thinking back right now, to that faint memory of careless bliss. Pasts like these become ripe with age, and nothing sounds more succulent than a return to Neverland.
Robin Williams tried just that in the timeless film Hook where it took him 3 days of full immersion with the Lost Boys to reject his grownup, pencil pushing alias and regain supremacy as The Peter Pan. Not to mention his son and daughter’s lives were at stake.
This begs the question, how long would it take you to truly escape the employee you’ve become? Would you need death threats and the cinematic mastery of Steven Spielberg to be truly divorced from your email account? What if Steven Spielberg is busy and he can’t dream up a script for you? You're doomed to be a desk monkey. You’ve lost it. Can’t fight, can’t fly, can’t crow. You’re not Pan.
This is an absurd conclusion, as if enjoying life was something that can be unlearned. We all have ways of maintaining spirit and joviality in the face of day-to-day stress.
I make sure to fly every week, sans fairy dust. I think happy thoughts and hop on a plane from Portland back to my new digs in Spokane. Can fly.
There I live across the hall of old roommates who enjoy a good wrestle now and then, though slightly tamed since the bouts of my true youth. Can Fight.
Three nights a week I practice my crow with the not so lost youth of Gonzaga and fake being young again (24 years is a long time). It usually ends in failed keg stands, tortured shotgun attempts, and embarrassing flip cup performances, but those are all just perks. Visit Spokane and you can hear me howl at the moon now and then. Can Crow.
Whatever your escape to Neverland, I hope it’s given its due time.
PS If you enjoy living vicariously through the adventures of others, here are some people you should follow that are getting their Pan on right now and I’m totally jealous of them.
