NARNIA

I am re-reading the Chronicles of Narnia. Already through the Magician’s Nephew and halfway into The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe (my remembered favorite) I’ve been able to proceed with a youthful wide eye-ed optimism. I refuse to believe that tragedy shall befall our noble heroes. I am usually right.

There is something about following the adventures of children that delivers safely to your childhood room, under the covers, reading with a flashlight. It’s a safe journey with a bumpy return. As my days stress harder on my constitution, it is harder and harder to pull myself from Narnia to face the electric bill or choosing a primary care physician in my network. I want both feet firmly in my child hood, searching for magical doorways into glorious worlds.

This afternoon, I approached the file room door, the door that remains mysteriously locked, with a curious eye. I counted to three, turned the key, opened the door very slowly and found…stacks of files.

I didn’t feel silly; I was quite proud to give into my imagination, even if just for three seconds. No matter how old you get, you should have at least one foot firmly planted in your childhood.