Last week I attended my annual visit to Pageant of the Masters. As we were huddled around the "kid table" at Sorrento Grille, Alana proceeded to fill our friends in on the typical events of the night: walk to the show in uncomfortable heels, look at the art in uncomfortable heels, and protect yourself as best you can from mosquitos all throughout the duration of the entire show.
Not once did she mention that we ever fully engage in the show, so you can imagine how excited our friends were when they realized the next three hours would be spent gaining nothing close to the appreciation of art, but rather a new collection of bug bites.
But to my surprise, this year was different. "Only Make Believe" was the theme and when the show started off featuring Peter Pan, you knew the audience was hooked, or at least I was.
Looking around the crowd I saw people texting, sipping their white wines and chatting all throughout the show and for a moment I was compelled to do the same; until one piece of artwork struck my attention.
Faeries.
A beautiful painting of faeries sprinkling dust over the eyes of sleepy passer-byers in a forest grabbed my attention, not necessarily for the artwork displayed, but rather for the simple words uttered from the narrator's mouth- faery dust.
I immediately thought back to fifth grade. San Fransisco. A day trip my then-married parents took me and Alana on. Through the monotonous tours of Fisherman's Wharf and even in the silent quarrels between my parents, all I could think about was faeries. See, at age 10, it's fairly typical to have grown out of the stage of make-believe. But for Alana and I, it felt as though that was all we had control of. I had my eye set on this slender glass jar filled with fairy dust, completed perfectly with a pink bow. All I remember thinking was all I need is this dust. All I need is this little jar of hope to make all of my wishes come true.
See, it wasn't the fact that I still thought I believed in faeries, or even the fact that my parents bought me the vile of glitter and sequined paper, it was the fact that I had something to believe in.
I put my full trust in this little jar of make believe when my belief in anything else had been taken away.
We so often rely on the simple solution, the quick result, to get us out of any doubts or confusion we are surrounded by.
My faery dust didn't work. I spent the next year engulfed by confusion, relying on even more make believe moments to escape to.
I jumped out of this memory and back into the show to look behind me and see my dad with his wife and Alana with her friend.
It occurred to me that neither of them were thinking about the faery dust I put all of my trust in.
It also occurred to me that through the whole year we spent in confusion, they all had their own viles of make believe to fall back on.
Whether it's faery dust or the Bible, a friend or a hobby, we find outlets to help us cope with the confusion we don't have any control over.
For me, it started out with a small jar of dust. It ended with a community of friends and mentors and left me delving into a book of hope to search for the answers to my confusion. For me, that book worked and always will.
What will it be for you?
Buying a stale jar of faery dust or searching for what you truly believe in?
