Do you remember when you were a kid, and your parents decided to go somewhere you didn’t want to?
I do. Very well.
I was an introvert child. I could spend hours on my own reading or watching cartoons on the TV.
When my parents decided to take the whole family somewhere, usually on Sundays, let’s say I wasn’t really cheerful.
In particular when the plan was to visit relatives or to go to some party with many people.
Anyway, I was a kid, so I didn’t have much choice but to follow.
I remember those long journey in the car where my only thought was “I want to go home!”
Sometimes I voiced it, but most of the time, I just sat there, in the back of the car in silence with the most resentful face I could make.
My mood didn’t change when we got to our destination. If possible, I was even more uptight. Full of my fierce refusal of the whole situation.
“I want to go home.”
That was everything I could think about.
Everything was annoying and boring. And that was proof that I was right in my desire to go home.
Then, almost every time something happened.
I don’t know if it was me getting tired of holding the forth. Or if it was something external cracking my walls, like a joke from my father, something sweet to eat softening my resistance, or the sight of some other kids doing something funny.
Whatever the reason, that voice in my head repeating “I want to go home”, became more and more feeble.
Until that thought was gone and I began having fun where I was.
These days feel a bit like that.