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The Darling Blog Of May

Darling Day 24. The Darling Tree

This is the Darling Tree.

nature forest trees park

Isn’t it lovely?

And oh-my-GOODNESS.

I have an idea!

Why don’t we climb it? Together.

Just like we did when we were pipsqueaks.

Just like we did before we painted our serious faces on.

man in gray suit jacket holding yellow banana fruit while making face

Don’t you remember it? That freedom?

Climbing to the top of the world without a care.

Gasping when we lost our footing; cackling on the ground, relieved to be still in one piece.

Surely you remember it.

We were superheroes, you and me. Chasing the bad guy to the highest branch.

We can do that again.

We can. We just have to decide it.

balance business cobblestone conceptual

Climb a tree, you say. But why? Why would we do such a thing?

Who knows. Who cares! Let’s just climb.

Just so we can go home and make rings around the bathtub again.

Just so that we can say those two simple words again: Why not.

Why not.

Don’t they sound like a river running wild? Don’t they sound…

Free?

Yes. They do. So come on! Let’s fling on our capes and fly.

Up to the rooftops of the Darling Tree.

Oh. And don’t worry. I’ll pack supplies.

We could be gone a while. xx

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Darling Day 11. The English Teacher

Some people in this life really do bring out our inner butterfly, don’t they?

Who knows what that magic is, or how it comes about, but I have a feeling it’s made with that thing we all have in common.

The spirit.

Sometimes, when two spirits meet, the union is harmonious. Something is said—or not said— and the message is simply understood. Maybe words were used to transfer the message. Or maybe just a smile. A touch.

But what happens when two spirits jar? What happens when they rub up against each other with razor blades bared and hearts tight shut to reason.

Inner chaos. That’s what happens.

Friction.

Tears.

Which brings me to a source of my own inner chaos, an old English teacher of mine. She was awful. And don’t get me wrong. I don’t necessarily think that she was a bad person (especially not now that I look back at her with wide-open adult eyes).

I just didn’t understand her.

And she sure didn’t understand me.

I was a dreamer, a free-spirit who thrived using my intuition to solve problems, rather than the obvious tool of western culture: the brain. Of course, my brain was still there to supervise. To pull the wildest parts of my spirit back in line so I could get my work done in some sort of orderly fashion.

But.

I wasn’t a thinker. I wasn’t a planner.

And that teacher—she was both.

No wonder we clashed. Thinker versus feeler? Teen Brooke wouldn’t have known about the delicate balance of soul on soul, yet. And something tells me that teacher hadn’t figured it out either.

Now, though, I finally understand.

It wasn’t her that was the problem.

It was us.

Enter the darling of today. Adult me flipping through my high school journal, only to discover the most deliciously scathing burst of teenage sass you ever did see.

You can read it below.

Enjoy. xx

 

BROOKE’S DIARY: 23RD JULY 1999

Mum talked to my English teacher today. She just said to plan more. Blah, blah, blah.

Just a short one today.

G’night.

xx Brooke

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The darling blog of May