What Obama means to me

So I have a confession to make, I didn't start out this past election riding the Obama train, in fact it took me almost until the bitter end to hop on. But once I did I didn't look back and on inauguration day I found myself crying over the amazing scenes displayed on TV.
Let me explain something here. I am a white woman. In fact I am probably one of the whitest people alive. People joke and say that I glow or makes jokes about me catching on fire if I'm in the sun for too long, so no, I am not a minority. In this respect I have no personal comparison to what it must have felt like to be a black man making his way through the political ranks of our country, but I feel that I can relate on another level.
See, I live among a different type of social injustice and unfortunately this past year has shown me that no one is immune from prejudice and that skin color doesn't necessarily dictate it. I live in a town that frowns on education and strong work ethics. The people here harbor this insane idea that if you strive to better yourself mentally or financially then you are not worthy of their time. That advanced education is a wasted expense and not needed for a truly happy and free life. I've been told numerous times to take my fancy degree and not come back, have heard how overqualified I am more times than I can count, and actually had interviews cancelled because it was discovered that I had left my masters degree off my resume in hopes of just getting my foot in the door. So, I have experienced social prejudice first hand and it made me lose hope.
I started to doubt myself and think that I would never succeed. I would forever be held down by an education that I had aspired to for most of my adult life.
Then, an amazing thing happened. This man, also a fellow Columbia alumni, appeared and he started preaching about hope. About how a black man could be President, be a good President, be the leader of the free world. He spoke about bringing change and realizing dreams and in not believing that the world dictated your position in life. He spoke of making your own destiny despite what the world around you might tell you. And at first I was scared to believe him. Then I realized that he was practicing what he was preaching. Here was a black man refusing to believe all his opponents and trudging ahead, shoulders down, pushing through the racial barriers that had held so many before him down. He not only preached hope, he had hope. And watching him succeed showed me that I too should be hopeful. He taught me to believe in myself and for that I feel like he's already lived up to, no surpassed even, all of his campaign promises and no matter what happens in the next four years I will not be disappointed. He is a living dream and for that I am eternally grateful.

Neverneverland

The Neverneverland syndrome, the mistrust of others, grasp of immediate pleasure, retreat from time, refusal to consider entry into the world of adult plans and responsibilities, refusal to "grow up," or to die—all of these would seem to define one who is, indeed, an inhabitant of a Never-Never-Land. Some call this the Peter Pan syndrome, the supposed psychological phenomenon of immaturity among some men, who, like the fictional character, remain childish and fail to assume appropriate adult social roles and responsibilities (www.wictionary.com). The term was actually coined by pop psychology author Dan Kiley in his book "Peter Pan syndrome: Men Who Have Never Grown Up."
He was of course referring to M. Barrie's classic 1904 play, ”Peter Pan, or, The Boy Who Would Not Grow Up,” in which a boy who refuses to grow up teaches Wendy and her younger brothers how to fly and then it's off to magical Neverneverland for adventures with mermaids, Indians, and wicked Captain Hook and his pirate crew. This is not a medically accepted syndrome.
The question I ask though is, is it possible for this syndrome to affect not just a select few people but an entire community? Are there places where the majority of the community lives in this perpetual state of adolescence refusing to grow up and acknowledge the adult world around them? Yes, I think there are, in fact, I think that I live in such a place.
When my husband first mentioned moving from NYC to Jackson, Wy I laughed it off as a pre-midlife crisis and hoped it would be swept under the rug like all of his other hair brained schemes. But a few months later I found myself driving a twenty foot Budget rental truck across the country in the dead of winter headed to a town that might as well have been in Cambodia because it seemed so far away from civilization. Actually, it is quite far from civilization, so this wasn’t my overactive imagination running away with me.
Upon arrival in Jackson we were temporarily staying with friends and this is the first time my own Neverneverland theory came up. Hanging above their stove was a plaque that read, “If you haven’t grown up by 30 then you don’t have to.”
That’s funny, I thought. And kind of endearing. The idea that actual age doesn’t have to determine “age.” It was a novel idea to the daughter of an engineer, always taught practicality and responsibility and a bunch of other -ity words that seem to be important to most modern Americans. So, I decided then and there to adopt this attitude and to live a more youthful existence.
I watched the locals and tried to emulate their habits. I started to sleep more, slow down, pace myself... easier said than done for a girl who had not only lived, but loved, the fast paced adrenaline rush of Manhattan. Learning to not always go go go was the hardest part of my return to childhood, because even as a child I had been scheduled to the max with my own ballet and tap and art classes and my brother’s never ending soccer games, not to mention all the after school clubs I joined to appear more well-rounded to college admissions boards. Now, I found myself putting my schedule in a drawer and avoiding appointments and meetings, I found myself shunning responsibilities, not worrying about whether the bills were paid on time, not worrying about eating vegetables, concerning myself instead with whether the snow was powdery enough to take the dogs skiing. And I wasn’t alone in this, everyone around me lived this exact lifestyle. No one seemed to care that there was a war going on or that the economy was failing or that the water bill actually had to be paid.
The fact that an Ivy League educated 30 year old lady was working as a landscaper was not looked down upon, rather it was revered. People thought I was “gnar” and “awesome” for shunning corporate America, for not falling prey to power of “the man.” And at first, this was OK with me. I enjoyed my play time, my lack of responsibility, I liked knowing that my job wasn’t my whole world. But over time, something changed.
As time went on and everyday turned into the day before I started to realize what a mundane existence “childhood” actually is. Because unlike the first round of actual youth, this Peter Pan life lacks the wonderment and true carefreedness. Because no matter how hard one tries to escape “life,” well, life is still there. There are still bills to pay and vegetables to eat and family members still get sick and dogs still have to be taken to the vet... And no amount of “good powder” will get rid of these things.
Now, I look around at most of the people in this town and instead of feeling envious I feel pity. I feel sorry for these adults who can’t make the leap into the real world, for their lack of experience and lack of well, living. Because no matter how many times someone argues that life should be spent playing and “enjoying” oneself, I have to wonder if a life is truly lived without responsibility? Because in the end, don’t homes and bills and families contribute to a more well-rounded existence? Doesn’t having a secure career contribute to a sense of well-being that can’t be achieved without financial security?
Not that I’m condoning money lust or greed, all I’m saying is that there is something to be said for a good job. For having a sense of not only accomplishment but of purpose, to know that at the end of the workday you can afford to go out and play. I don’t think a 30 year old should still be counting quarters to fill up the gas tank, and if they are having to do so, I don’t think it should be by choice.
I think life is a compromise between maintaining a bit of youth but not shunning adulthood. It’s OK to be Peter Pan, just move out of Neverneverland before your age actually catches up with you.