On the TV is “History’s Mysteries: The Legend of Arthur and the Knights of Camelot”. As I listen to this, I begin to wonder back to my childhood, to a time when I truly believed that chivalric knights and princes on white horses existed, and that, one day, one of them would find me, recognize that I indeed had worth, and carry me off to love me for all of time. Just like the fairy tales. Even despite the fact that, for a while, I found the villains far more alluring than the princes. But what can I say? I was five at the time.
As I grew, I began to grow out of that attitude, finding no evidence of such princes and knights in the world around me, at least not amongst the males who mattered: the boys at school. They had never heard of chivalry or even good manners, it hardly seemed to me. Thus, the dream of the prince on the white horse began to fade as I realized that I couldn’t wait around for him, punctuated by several failed attempts to find said prince from the meager stock I had available to me.
As I progressed through high school, regarding myself as little more than an old maid. It may seem odd that I thought of myself as such at 17 years old but I had been much a mother figure to my friends all through school that, truly, what else could I think of myself as? Ironically enough, it didn’t bother me. I didn’t need the prince now. I would journey to lands far away on my own, build my own new life. On my own, no prince required.
As I began college, I began to meet men with this fleeting dream called “chivalry”, young men who wouldn’t let me walk back to my dorm alone, who defended me against naysayers. Then I began to dream again, ever so slightly, that one of those chivalrous men might be for me some day. Five years and what (I thought) were four possibilities later, I came to the point where I was content to live and stand alone. Or so I thought.
Needless to say, my prince did come along, though he did not lift me up onto his horse but met me where I was on earth. I reminded him how to fly and he encouraged me to dream. So…just because you cease dreaming it, doesn’t mean that the dream isn’t real, isn’t still there.