I have a very vivid memory from when I was really young. It’s probably one of the first ones I can actually recall, which makes sense because I was only 3 years old at the time.
I remember laying in my bed – the image of brightly coloured shapes on the bed sheets comes to mind. From one perspective it was just a sea of colour, but from another – when you looked down from up above – it was something that immediately came to life; dozens of little toy trucks.
I remember my body, ever so gracefully and slowly starting to lift off the mattress. It felt as though I was being carried, but in the most cautious way. As I moved through the air the momentum was gentle enough that I felt guided, but free enough that I felt as though I could swim and spiral my body as we floated on.
I remember moving out through the doorway of my room and into the narrow hallway right above the stairs. I curved my body around the banister and lowered my head as a means to direct the motion and start to descend.
As my body began to glide down the stairs, the most wonderful feeling overtook me. It was powerful and boundless, like a secret weight had been lifted – yet one that I wasn’t even aware I was carrying.
It was an elevated moment of existence, and even as a kid I still recognized it to be just that. It was calm and comforting, like something I had never experienced, yet at the same time, oddly familiar.
As I rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs, I became wary. I looked into the kitchen and saw my Mom standing there by the countertop. I can’t quite remember what she was doing – maybe the dishes, maybe making dinner.
I don’t know why but I somehow knew it wouldn’t be possible for me to share the moment. Whether it was something I just wanted to keep for myself or something I desperately hoped to yell from the rooftops – in either case, sharing it just seemed too risky.
So, just like that, I landed and my feet touched the ground.
Maybe I was relieved or maybe I was disappointed – I can’t quite remember and I’m not quite sure. But I do remember telling my Mom all about it at some point – the details, the feelings and the cautious hesitancy – but that was much later, I was older then.
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