Sometimes, just as I’m starting to wake up, I can hear what someone was saying to me in my dreams. It sounds echo-y and distant, and it quickly fades, but nevertheless, the message gets through. It doesn’t always make sense, but it always feels like a rare privilege. It’s as if my subconscious thinks something matters enough to allow me to have rare direct conversation with it.
This time it was my mother speaking. She said, “If you get lost, go to Cinderella’s Castle.”
It was really good to hear her voice. She passed away nearly 35 years ago, and I have no recordings of her, so I was convinced I couldn’t remember what she sounded like, except for one really bad note she used to hit when singing the highest, loudest part one of her favorite hymns, “Ain’t gonna GRIEEEEEEEEVE my Lord no more…”
But this, this was a whole sentence! But why, of all sentences, did she pick that one? Still, I clung to it like a life raft. I didn’t want to get out of bed.
Then, the memory flooded back. When I was 10 years old, we lost everything. I was uprooted from my home in Connecticut, and everything and everyone I ever knew outside of my immediate family. We moved to Florida, and things went steadily downhill from there.
The one and only thing I wanted from that state was a chance to go to Disney World. But we were too poor. This will tell you how long ago that was: Admission was $20 per person, and I wanted me, my mother, and my sister to go. $60 dollars, to an underprivileged 10-year-old in the early ‘70’s, seemed as inaccessible as the surface of the moon. But I knew that the only way I would ever see Disney World would be if I made it happen myself.
So I started growing house plants and selling them at the flea market that they had every Saturday in the campground where I lived. It was a huge campground, where senior citizens (we called them “snowbirds”) came with their trailers to stay through the winter. Then they’d go back north, leaving us to swelter through the summer with the occasional tourists who passed through on their way to (you guessed it) Disney World.
When the snowbirds returned, business would pick up again. I guess they got a kick out of being able to get plants in December, so they’d buy them from me. 25 cents here, 50 cents there. Little by little, the money would add up.
But it would also disappear, because the only way I could get school clothes was if I bought them myself, too. (Thank God for thrift stores.) And I had to buy pots for the plants, and so on. It took me two long years to scrape up the money to go to Disney.
But then I realized they’d be charging tax, and it would take gas to get there, and we’d have to buy food while there, and I kept growing out of my clothes and… it was just too much. I lost all hope. That’s how everything had been since we had moved to that infernal state. I’d claw my way out of the bucket of crabs I found myself in, and just as I was about to scramble over the rim, some crab would reach up with his claw and snatch me right back down again.
I shouldn’t have had to worry about stuff like this when I was ten. It was too much. And of course I felt guilty about the way I felt, because I knew that so many people around the world had it so much worse than I did. Yes, I was living in a tent. But at least I was in America, and back then I was operating under the illusion that that meant I’d always be safe and free. (I’d sure hate to be 10 right now.) Sure, sometimes we ate nothing but potatoes, but we always ate. How dare I feel sorry for myself?
But then my mother told me that of course she’d pay for gas and for our lunches. So away we went. I was equal parts nervous and excited. Excited that I was finally back up on the rim of the bucket, but nervous, because I knew that one of the crabs down below could look up at any moment.
But given my tendency to daydream and lose track of where I was (We didn’t know about my autism at the time), my mother knew I always felt better when I had a plan for all contingencies. As we got past the ticket gate, my mother looked around and found the most visible thing in the park, and said to me, “If you get lost, go to Cinderella’s Castle.”
So just like that, I was able to relax and let myself be myself for one shining day. It was liberating. I was in a safe place, but I knew that you couldn’t count on anything, really. So it was good to know that all I’d have to do was get to Cinderella’s Castle. I had a way to save myself if things went wrong, so it would all end well. And as it turned out, I didn’t get lost that day. Knowing that safety net was there was all I needed. We all had an amazing time.
I think we’ve all been feeling a little lost this past year, whether it’s politically, financially, or due to any of a whole other host of stressors that have been visited upon us. I know for certain that I’ve been feeling lost at work. And my sister has made it clear that she would actually prefer it if I get lost, and I’ve had a harder time accepting that than I expected to.
But you know what? The castle is still there. It never left. Maybe what my mother was trying to tell me in that dream was that we all carry our castles within us.
If you’re feeling lost for any reason, Dear Reader. if it seems like everything is too much, or if someone has let you down, or you can’t seem to catch a break, or you’re overwhelmed and feeling like things are out of control, just stop. Take a deep breath. Close your eyes.
Remember that there are some things that can never be taken away from you. There are some things that will not change unless you want them to change. Your inner core is what holds you up. Your values, your integrity, your determination, the things you know to be true about yourself — that’s your castle. It doesn’t have to look like Cinderella’s. Any fortress will do. Just know it’s there, and it’s solid, and you can always count on it.
If you’re feeling lost, go to your castle. It will always be there for you. It always has been. It has gotten you this far, hasn’t it? If you are reading this, you have survived every single day of your life up to this point.
You got this. That’s a reminder from my mother. Sage advice comes in many forms.
Happy holidays, Dear Reader.
Leave a Reply