Because in the end, Wendy leaves Neverland.

Alice awakens from Wonderland, and even Audrey
Hepburn returns to her princess duties at the end of Roman Holiday.
There is a pervasive idea, in me, and I suspect in many of
my generation, that if we hold out long enough, things will “fall into place.”
That, like a combination safe, if we only knew the correct combination, just the right number for the one that’s marked Career, Romance, Family, all the cylinders would fall into place with that magic clicking sound, the vault
would unlock — *angelic voices sing “Ahh!”* — and Oz would open to us.
Unfortunately, Dorothy also awakens from Oz.
I met with my friend who’s a depth hypnotherapist yesterday,
and we plumbed such psychic depths that I poured out a gallon of tears, and not
paltry breakthroughs.
One said breakthrough was about this Adulthood thing again.
About taking responsibility, which is the opposite of the belief that things
will “fall into place.” Instead, I am told, I’m going to have to become willing
to re-parent myself. To take responsibility to care for myself – which
apparently doesn’t just mean trips to the spa, and that nice new pair of
Apparently, caring for myself, parenting myself, becoming a
responsible homosapien adult in the 21st century means what it means
to any parent: rules, discipline, boundaries, support, encouragement, love. It
means sending the kid to school even though they don’t want to go, but you, as
the parent, know it’s what’s best for them. It means not feeding them junk,
even though that’s the quicker, easier thing to do, but taking the time to
prepare something healthy, and washing the dishes when you’re done, because
it’s simply your job as the grown-up.
I means encouraging the 30 minutes of music practice a day,
the two hours of solid homework, because you know that after a month or a year,
those half hours will add to something more, even though it is not instant gratification.
Adulthood means giving up the illusion of instant
gratification, letting go of the idea that Oz will appear if you hold your
breath as you pass cemeteries and let someone cut in front of you on the
highway. There is no “tit for tat” here. There is no Cosmic Score Board, where
my good deeds are ranked, and my bad deeds are demerits. The payoff of the good
deed is the thing itself. The payoff of doing the dishes is the ease with which
to cook on them again. There may not be a pat on the back for this; but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth doing. 
This may all seem like elementary to you (and I use that
term with purpose), but to me, it’s not. I did not learn these things in
elementary school, or at any other grade or age I’ve been.
I learned yesterday in this meditation/therapy session that
my magical thinking must end. That I’m going to have to accumulate new
experiences for the Experience Bank that will provide evidence that hard work
is worth the effort — just for its own sake. Because I’ve never tried hard work, I have no idea if
that’s true.
But, I deserve better “parents” than the one I’ve been being
to myself. I deserve better than ice cream for dinner and wide television eyes. Children need boundaries, structure, predictability, stability. No one
can offer these to me. Not a job, a boyfriend, even a “god.” I can have, or ask
for help from Sources within/without me, but, in the end, I’m the only one who
can give myself what I need.
And I need to grow up.
I need to wake up.

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