Today we bought “Where the Wild Things Are” for A. and we read it before bed. I remember reading the book as a child, but I didn’t really remember what it was about. One particular line for the book really stuck out and hit a chord for me:
Max had been banished to his room, away from everyone because he was doing what he wanted to do and other people didn’t like it. Then he imagined up a whole new world full of the things he thought he wanted. He ruled these things. However, he quickly realized that having all the things he wanted didn’t really matter because he didn’t feel loved. Then he wanted to go back to reality and realized that he was surrounded by people who truly loved him.
How often do we try to escape our own realities by making a world of fiction (or pseudo-fiction, where we alter our reality into something that isn’t appropriate or sustainable) with the hopes that it will solve our problems? I think we do it way more than we should. I know I do. And, when we do this to ourselves, isn’t it always the case that we realize our fictional world hasn’t actually solved the underlying problems in our lives?
Luckily for Max, he goes back to his real world to discover that there are people in his life who really love him… that the problems he tried to run away from didn’t really matter in the end. Can we all be so lucky?
Maybe I need to venture out of my make-believe world a little and see if I can be so lucky. Maybe I’ll find more happiness in my reality than I do in my fiction.