Here Be Dragons

One day, you decide to take back the lead ropes to your life. To do this, you need to go up to the top floor of the building that is you. You need to knock, say your name, befriend your inner dragon and ask him to share the power. It’s scary, but it’s the only way to get there.

And so you take a deep breath and go, ready to fight with all your little might. Sure, you know he’s the source of all your power, but what else do you do on the way up to visit a dragon than talk to your own reflection in the elevator about how you are the baddest?

But when you get there, surprise! If this is the dark side of you, it’s pretty chill—and what a view! The dragon isn’t scary, either. The cookies are in place, and you’re ready for your big speech. You tell him that you want to be more like him, that you want him to like you a little more, and that you’re ready to work together on the project that is you, but also him.

Your dragon doesn’t get angry, spit flames at you, or look like he’s going to start the fight you predicted. If anything, what follows is a moment of perfect silence that you share, both on the same side, no one trying to split anyone’s head open to decide who’ll rule your world next.

You look at him and realise how scary and weird and beautiful you could’ve been, something not everyone knows how to love. You wonder if that’s why they don’t love you, but then you remember that you’re not quite like that yet. You still have to develop that leathery toughness and grow some thorns on your back, like on those hip denim jackets (and on your very own dragon).

But you’re gaining strength from him with every breath you take, together, quietly, contemplating the city lights from your top floor window. Things seem so sharp and the world seems so fresh, and you begin to like who you are, or who you could be. Everything appears in brighter tones, even without having crossed over into another dimension, one with more coffee and longer nights and better love.

All it took was coming up to yourself, to your whole self. It didn’t even take long. It just took a little courage. Your dragon is the most welcoming. Your heart glows warm and you want to hug him, but he reminds you of all the things you still have to learn. He doesn’t like your weakest self, but he’s willing to help. You are ready. He shuts the door behind you. Begin.

And you begin, excited, as if life actually means something. There’s something inside you, something restless and playful, like your body already knew.

Finally, it sighs, in relief. You realise how out of touch with it you’ve been, so much so that you no longer had any interest or respect for new experiences. Life’s upgrades bothered you. But now you dream of being out there again. In the light. In the dark. Somewhere in the open, where you can grow young and strong again.

You’re curious to know what it would smell like there, what it’d feel like sleeping there, what you’d be like there. You can almost feel it. Curious, imaginative, active, intuitive, inquisitive, quiet. Strong-willed. Crazy. And God would lean closer to the earth to watch your every move, rubbing his beard and smiling down on you.

‘Careful,’ your dragon says. ‘You’re going too far. We’re not there yet.’

You know this, but you want to go too far.