If you missed your prologue.

I've been trying to get my head around this one thought for days if not years. Particularly when watching my kids live the unobstructed, imagination filled lives they organically lead. Do we change or give up? Is who we are as children closer to who we actually are than the lives we so often reflect? Lives lived before circumstances, career advice and the general misrepresentations of the word life. Do we really change as we grow up or are we just slowly defeated leaving behind a life worth living?

Me? I was a stager as a kid. From the cinematic replications of Luke and Vader crossing light on a smoke filled Bespin in my dresser drawers to making sure every one of my stuffed animals had a room with a view. I paid special attention to the design and detail of my belongings and space. Over time that context changed but did I? Lately I can't get enough of sites like...CubeMe.
Or photography, I got that early from my dad and started taking pictures in the 4th grade complements of Mrs. Adams' after school program. That turned into a dark room in high school and thousands of frozen moments later from New Jersey to South Africa I'm in love with the art. Capturing life in frames is very important to me. Why? Rationally I'm not sure, it just is.

Childhood is like that. It just is. It doesn't need an explanation. It's a beautiful part of our story, a preceding of the present in helping us to know who we are. Pages filled with creativity and imagination but buried in the wreckage of hurt, drama and the word dysfunctional. Maybe for some of us, who we really are is in there somewhere. If so, the wreckage is worth a return.