As children, I think we all felt like our parents were invincible, omniscient beings who could do no wrong. They scared away monsters, healed scrapes and bruises, and made the best PB&J sandwiches. When your world came plummeting down because you spilled your grape juice, you mom or dad would just smile, get a towel, and fix the mess you thought was going to bring the end of days. When you asked what an unknown word meant, they always knew the answer. When you lied, they could see right through you. They taught you right from wrong and constantly said things like “you’ll understand when you’re older”, or “this is for big kids”, firmly placing themselves on a pedestal far above our little adolescent heads

With this perception of perfection, it’s not hard to believe we all have a bit of an aging complex. Kids are always in such a hurry to grow up, and though an adult favorite is to say “enjoy childhood while it lasts”, all behavior and words of wisdom beyond this adamantly contradict such sentiments.

We live in a society where, to quote Matilda, adults have the general attitude of “I’m big, you’re little, I’m smart you’re dumb, I’m right you’re wrong, and there is nothing you can do about it”. There are reasons for this of course, and many of them are well founded, if a bit warped by the human desire for power and superiority. However, true as it may be that children need the care and construction of adults, this leaves the very same children in a bit of a catch. We sprint through adolescence, thinking that when we get older everything will be better, because we grow up having it beat into us that adults are never insecure, they always know the right answer, and they are just all around better than we are.

And then we hit that magic number, whether it’s eighteen or twenty-one or twenty-five or anything in-between, and we realize there is no magic number. Life just kind of sucks sometimes, whether you’re crying about your broken toy on the playground or stressing out about the pile of bills you have no way of paying. It sucks worse too, when you’ve been walking through life being told to hurry and grow up, and when you finally do, you find yourself just as confused and clueless as before.

Growing up is, of course, inevitable, and it can be a wonderful thing. But we don't need to be in such a rush. There is nothing wrong with being seven years old and still believing in Santa Clause. There is nothing wrong with being ten years old and spending your time playing outside with your friends on a Thursday afternoon. There is nothing wrong with being eighteen years old and still watching Spongebob on a Saturday morning. There is nothing wrong with being twenty-something years old and taking a thousand pictures with your favorite disney character when you go to Epcot.

There is this strange misconception that being silly, believing in fanciful things, and really just enjoying life is childish. If you believe in magic and Santa and the Easter Bunny past a certain age, you’re considered childish by your peers and worried over by adults. I’ve spoken with people whose parents actually sat them down and told them the truth because “it wasn't healthy to believe in such things” past the age of seven or eight. If a group of adults at the beach decide to make dribble castles in the sand or go boogey boarding, they are scoffed at and seen as childish and silly in a bad way.

I, for one, believed in Santa Clause until the age of eleven, and only stopped then because I woke up in the middle of the night and saw my mom putting presents under the tree. And I, despite my classification as an adult, still love to play in the sand and the water at the beach, and made a dribble-castle replica of the Hogwarts castle the last time I went to the beach with friends.

But despite this, my obsession with young adult novels, my love for cartoons and disney, and my vast collection of stuffed animals, I still happen to be a well-functioning and successful person. I’m attending a wonderful school with scholarships and I have realistic plans for my future, so why can’t I still be a kid on my own time?

The answer is simple: I can, and I frequently am.

My entire life, I have had the wonderful and slightly unique honor of a mother who forgot to grow up. Her amazing example has enabled me to grow up without losing that childish zeal for life each and every day, and has given me the outlook that allows me to write this article explaining why we all need to grow back down instead of trying to hard to grow up. She spent the first several years of my life telling me stories about goblins in the clouds, fairies living under mushrooms, and pixies dancing in the sunbeams each morning.

She put so much effort into making each day magical for me, and worked to keep me seeing the world through that fresh lens of childish wonder long after I had advanced into my teen years. She told me all about the mistakes she made as a teenager and an adult, and didn't hide from me how hard being an adult could be. She told me “enjoy childhood while it lasts”, but then she went on to actually prove that I should do so, working to show me the good and the bad of all different parts of life.

She didn't ever talk down to me or try to convince me that she knew everything. She did, of course, claim that she was Queen of the Universe and thus I must follow her every rule, but that aside, she never built herself up to a higher level than me.

I was very nearly swayed by other influences though, with friends telling me I was “too much of a baby” and teachers telling me to get my head out of the clouds, but despite their attempts to bring me tumbling back to earth, I remained silly and weird as ever, and I’m so much happier for it.

Thanks to my mother’s influences, I learned how to be “adult” when I had to be. I learned responsibility and diligence and I can very easily distinguish between right or wrong. But, I still love to have fun. I still wake up and notice how wonderful everything is each day. I think it’s easy to lose that, as the days and months and years pass us by. Everything becomes so regular. The sun comes up on the same horizon each morning, and we choose clothes from the same closet and get ready in front of the same mirror, preparing for a day doing the same things we have done a thousand times before.

But nothing is ever exactly the same. There are always new pictures in the clouds, the opportunity to mix things up as you get ready in the morning, and the chance to do something different or meet someone new as you go about your well-rehearsed daily schedule.

So try, the next time you feel bogged down by the weight of adult life, to just be a kid again. If you have a free minute, spend it watching your favorite movie from childhood, or reading a book you used to love. When you go outside, notice how clear the sky is or how fresh the air is. Imagine all the things that could be, and think about what you want to do. If it rains, go play in it. If your friends are over, play dress up or dance or sing or play old board games. Do what makes you happy, and don't let go of the enthusiasm for life that is childhood.