The Boy Who Dreamt Too Much
He was smart. Too smart, thought his mother. He was always seeking the next adventure and never focused on what was right in front of him.
“His head is in the clouds,” his father would say. Simon watched as his parents discussed him over dinner. Shrinking back into his seat, he felt invisible.
What if I just went out into the woods? He wondered. Placing his fork down quietly, he pushed his chair back across the floor. He crept out the back door, leaving his parents to squabble over what they believed he should be doing and his spaghetti to get cold.
Simon ran into the backyard, the overgrown vegetation tickling his knees as he approached the worn picket fence. Standing on his tiptoes, he peered into the foliage and the trees. He watched as the leaves danced in the wind and greeted him merrily.
“Hello!” he shouted in delight. “I will be right there; hang on!” On nimble feet, he made his way to the corner of the yard, picking up his wooden sword and paper hat and plastering them to his head firmly.
With a surge of exhilaration, Simon's fingers closed around the cold metal of the gate. It swung open with a satisfying click, and he dashed into the woods. The wind, as if in tune with his excitement, carried him swiftly, his feet barely brushing the fallen bristles. Faster and faster, he flew until, to his astonishment, two golden wings sprouted from his back.
He squealed with delight as the gusts careened him higher and higher. He imagined what it would be like if he made it all the way to the clouds. What would they feel like? Like cotton candy, he thought.
He looked below and saw his house in the distance, now a muddy brown speck below. His heart began racing as he turned around to go home. Still, the wind carried him higher and higher.
Panic set in, and dark clouds swirled around him. A single droplet landed on his nose with a splash. He had never flown this high before. Brows furrowed, he pulled his wings and asked the winds to bring him down.
Slowly and gently, he began his descent. Thunder rumbled, sending vibrations from his head to his toes. He pointed his wooden sword at the wet dirt below. He narrowed his eyes and focused on a patch of wooly green moss.
“Smooth and steady,” he whispered. His feet collided with the earth with a thud, causing his knees to buckle slightly. He fell forward, catching himself as he landed. He rolled over to sit and peered up in the sky. Lightning rippled through the dense blue-gray, and his mother called out to him. “Simon?” She hollered into the backyard. “Where have you gone off to now?”
He stood, wiping grassy hands on his khaki shorts. With a smirk, he turned on his heel and ran back into his yard as the rain descended.
“I was flying, mama,” he told her.
“Oh. Where to this time?” She said, crossing her arms over her spotted blue blouse.
She held the screen door open for him as he entered the kitchen. Wiping his dirt-caked shoes onto the mat, he took them off and sat at the table.
“Just in the woods. I made it all the way to the clouds this time,” he said. His plate of spaghetti had been cleared, and a hefty piece of chocolate cake was in its place.
“Well, it’s good that you came back, or you would have missed cake.’ His mother smirked, patting his back.
She ran her palm over two large tears in his shirt. “Simon, what happened to your shirt? It’s ripped,” her foot tapped impatiently, and she instructed him to remove it.
“I told you I was flying, mama,” he reminded her.
“Right, well, now your shirt is ruined. Let’s leave the flying to the professionals before you run out of clothes. Deal?” She took the shirt from his hands, and his father lowered the newspaper, lowering his black-framed glasses to look at him.
His father grinned at him broadly and winked, saying nothing. He continued to study the paper, and Simon spied the front page article. His eyes widened and lit from within as he read:
First Man to Land on The Moon
Self-Inquiry Prompts
- Can you dream too much? If so, how much is too much?
- What does a healthy balance of dreaming and being grounded look like for you?
- Where have you grounded yourself from wanting to experience the impossible?
- Is the impossible possible? Could it be possible but present differently?
- Make a wish.