Never Say Never Land

    Friday nights were a very special time when I was a boy. School could be forgotten for two glorious days, and teachers’ scornful looks were behind me. I struggled through grade school and wanted nothing more than to be running barefoot outside, but Fridays were the light at the end of the long tunnel. Fridays were extra special because Mom would take us down to Video-1 to rent the latest new release on VHS, and we were allowed to stay up as long as we wanted, which never lasted much past midnight as my sisters and I would drift off on the couch or in our sleeping bags laid out on the living room floor. My younger sisters called their pile of blankets and pillows their “nests” and would go to great lengths to make them just right. Occasional bickering over territory was pretty common, as a clear view of the television was paramount. 

    I was usually reclined on the couch or soft chair and would yell at them to stay out of the way of our glowing wood-framed 32-inch box television, which was permanently affixed to our thick yellow carpet. The VCR collected dust throughout the week, and we had to rely on the broken channel switch and aluminum foil bunny ears to get in our afternoon cartoons. Much to my chagrin, Dad’s evening news programs always came in crystal clear, but we didn’t have to worry about television reception as our VCR hummed true, and after a little tracking adjustment, we were ready with our snacks and microwave popcorn. Friday nights were something to be cherished, and rarely was this childhood tradition interrupted. Movie nights were sacred in our lower-middle-class living room, and even Dad knew to allow the kids their weekly sanctuary. 

    Video-1 was a dusty, green-carpeted video rental store down by the pharmacy. This was the time before DVDs and the word “streaming” would have made us think of a tiny river. A permanent haze of cigarette smoke filled the store as the owner stood affixed behind the counter with a lit cigarette between his calloused fingers and a full ashtray on his little desk. I can almost remember his name as I saw him more often than my own grandparents. His long, oily hair matched his stained rock band t-shirt, and he was as friendly as you can imagine to children invading his lair. I was always nervous to ask if he got in any new arrivals. He was well known in our sleepy little town of Ravenna, Michigan, but I never saw him outside his rental store. My town was too small for a big Family Video or an upscale Blockbuster, but growing up in a farming community of only three thousand, you simply didn’t know any different. 

    The store's walls were filled with cardboard VHS sleeves, and Styrofoam inserts replacing the tapes themselves. Oftentimes, I would sneak over to the rated-R section and look at the backs of the covers to take in the little pictures of gruesome monsters or bloody action scenes. Mom would sass me, and I’d scurry back to the safe haven of the PG and G section. If I was lucky, I could talk Mom into a PG-13 movie, but not very often. I heard a legend from a friend of a friend of a friend that a boy back in ‘73 snuck behind the curtain that said, “adults only,” and the tale says when he was caught, he was never heard from again. It was believed that he was fed to the owner’s deformed half-brother, who lived chained up in the basement. I had no idea what was behind that black curtain, why only adults could venture forth, and I never built up the nerve to find out. 

    To my annoyance, my little sisters would quickly pick out some My Little Pony or Land Before Time fodder. Knowing my rambunctious little sisters were ready to go would que Mom to hustle me along, but this was serious business and not something to be rushed. A whole week’s worth of asking around school, watching TV ads, and scouring the endless walls of VHS sleeves lead me to this moment. Getting to the video store early was very important as there were limited copies of the new releases. Oftentimes, my efforts were frustrated as I tried to hurry Mom out the door and into the van, but she was busy prepping dinner or finding my sisters’ shoes. I never understood why she couldn’t have taken care of these things while I was in school…, especially on Fridays! Needless to say, if I managed to snag the last copy of a new release, the Friday gods had truly smiled upon my childhood world. 

    If the latest offering of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Neverending Story, or Back to the Future were already gone, I would grab one of the tried and true Disney classics. I grew up at the end of the “dark age” and into the “renaissance” of Disney movies. They were called dark because the Disney animation studio was trying to find its footing after their fearless leader and visionary, Walt, died in 1966. It’s thought that the darker color palate and tone of these movies were a subconscious reflection of how the animators felt at the time. Obviously, I’m biased, but I feel these two eras were the best Disney has to offer. They used in studio orchestras for their soundtracks and real human illustrators. Disney movies like Robin Hood, the Fox and the Hound, the Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin, and The Lion King just hit differently. 

    Released before my time, but still, one of my favorites was Peter Pan. I liked the soft animation and bright colors, especially when old nighttime London was contrasted against the blue and green paradise of Neverland. The classical musical score matched the animation beautifully, and occasionally, I still find myself humming, “You Can Fly.” Even a young boy’s eyes couldn’t take the story too seriously as the protagonist was a happy-go-lucky child, and Captain Hook looked goofy with his oversized feather and clunky boots. He was not the menacing villain type I had grown accustomed to from my Batman comic book education, but it was a fun movie to get lost in and drift off to dream of my own adventures of wielding a sword, storming the pirate ship, and rescuing the damsel. 

    There was one aspect of Peter Pan that always annoyed me. Why didn’t Peter want to grow up? My heroes were not children but adults, as fictional as they may have been. I liked Super-man, not Super-boy; I liked Bat-man, not Robin the boy-wonder… So, what was Peter’s deal? I looked forward to leaving my Neverland, rejoining nighttime London, and allowing the grandfather clock to chime once again. As an adult, I can look at Peter’s life and understand why he chose his path, but I also recognize the pitfalls that await young men and women who follow his shadow. In Neverland, Peter’s only adult influence was the grumpy and sometimes cruel Captain Hook and his rough pirate crew. Captain Hook was always stressed, full of anxiety, and seemed miserable. He lived in constant fear of the ticking away of his life, represented by the deadly crocodile. If that was my only adult influence, I wouldn’t want to grow up either. 

    When Wendy joined Peter’s Lost Boys, she began caring for them as best a juvenile matriarch could, and some of the boys began remembering their own mothers. Tears flowed as their hearts pulled them back to their original families, but not Peter. As curious as he was, thoughts of his own mother were met with blank expressions or sarcastic remarks. Peter had no memories of his family before Neverland, and adulthood was modeled for him only through the pirates. Peter didn’t have the luxury of comic book role models or a consistent father figure. I think his story would have been quite different had he been exposed to even moderately successful adults, but instead, he was given some free will and a little Neverland magic. Peter did the only logical thing he knew: avoid becoming a miserable pirate by not growing up into that perceived predetermined fate. 

    Sadly, Peter is not alone in this thought process. Many people in the real world have attempted to do the same, and the issue has become so prevalent that modern psychologists have coined the term… you guessed it, Peter Pan Syndrome. Although PPS is not an official diagnosis and is not in the DSM-5, mental health professionals use the term to describe adults who are finding difficulty transitioning from adolescence to adulthood. Naturally, it takes time for young adults to learn how to navigate their independence in a sometimes unforgiving world, but some people either get stuck in their transition or simply decide not to venture into adulthood. 

    It is true that the world can be a scary place, and just setting yourself up with a house or apartment can be daunting. Many of the young adults I have counseled have compounding issues with not being prepared for independence by their parents or parents encouraging their adult children to stay in the home. Sometimes, young adults (or older) never leave the nest simply out of convenience. Now, this situation may work ok and even be healthy for a family if the young adult is fulfilling their purpose and is contributing to their household and their community. I have a friend who lived in his parent’s basement until he got married in his late thirties. While living under his parent's roof, he earned his college degree, was well into a successful career, and contributed much to the household. Unfortunately, I think my friend may be the exception rather than the rule. 

    Young people with PPS are doing little for themselves or the household in which they live. They may be legal adults but do very little “adulting.” Not surprisingly, these people come to counseling with feelings of depression and hopelessness. They tell me they spend most of their time staying in their messy room, playing video games, scrolling social media, overeating, and remaining dependent on their parents as they did when they were children. This type of person has gotten older but has not grown up. They looked at the world, saw the possible pitfalls, felt the cold wind, peered into the dark nights, and said, “Nope!” So, back into the den, they scurried. 

    People who show characteristics of PPS have difficulty accepting personal responsibility, maintaining healthy relationships, holding down a job, are emotionally immature, lack drive, have few to no life aspirations, and may show signs of narcissism. Think of a child’s emotions and thought patterns in an adult body. Modern therapists see these people as refusing or not having the skills to successfully enter into adulthood and independence. Sometimes, the best cure for those who get stuck in perpetual childhood is some much-needed tough love, but this can cause significant relational pain, especially with the parents or guardians the person is dependent on. Some young people I have counseled and mentored genuinely wanted to become independent and launch into the adult world but didn’t know how. If someone has this desire, half the battle is over, and I would argue do not fit into the category PPS because, given the right opportunity and motivation, they would launch into independence. Those who have the means and resources and still refuse to contribute to their own life will find their hardships only increase the longer they continue as a perpetual adult child. 

    Over the years I have had the opportunity to teach a parenting class at a human services office and as part of a program at a detention center for adolescent boys. Throughout this class, I have noticed a theme of inconsistency and indifference in parenting skills. A phrase that has come out of this observation is, “Don’t soften rock bottom.” In other words, when we hit rock bottom, it’s supposed to be hard and uncomfortable. This discomfort motivates us to get out of the pit we find ourselves in. Unfortunately, many parents or grandparents can’t emotionally handle seeing their sweet 30-year-old baby boy or girl be uncomfortable, so they throw pillows and blankets down into the pit. This doesn’t help the adult child at all and actually is a disservice because instead of trying to get out of their trouble, the young adult just gets comfortable in it. Eagles know this very well. 

    I loved watching National Geographic and Wild America on PBS with my mother. We would claim the TV for a Sunday evening and listen to David Attenborough or Marty Stouffer’s soothing voice as they told us fascinating facts about animals. I will never forget the segment on Eagles up in the Rocky Mountains and how they built their nests. The eagles would build their large nests high in a tree and would use thorns and sharp twigs. They would then cover these spiny points with leaves and soft moss before laying their precious eggs. “Why start with thorns and pickers?” I thought. The cute little eaglets would hatch and beg for food every chance they got. As they grew they would hop around the nest and flap their growing wings. I would nervously watch the screen not wanting to see them fall from such a great height. 

    As the eaglets grow into adolescents the nest becomes a tight fit and one day the mother and father eagle return but ignore their hungry cries. Instead, they pick at the soft bed and begin throwing out the feathers and moss, exposing the thorns and thistles that lay in wait. The young eagles cry and carefully tip-toe around the nest avoiding the thorns. The parents watch from a neighboring tree, waiting for the big moment. Then, the biggest of the young eagles, tired of pocked feet and an empty belly, peers over the edge, glances at mom and dad, spreads out his wings, and leaps. Down he goes and then as if he grasps the wind’s wide-open arms, soars high above his mountain home. Soon the other young eagles follow and the entire family flies through the air and the nest becomes nothing more than a small part of their past. 

    Adult eagles do not belong in nests. They belong in the sky and perched high in their pine tree towers. If we do not prepare our kids for the world and seek to launch them successfully, they may never leave their comfortable nest. As vital as a soft caring nest is for the health and survival of eaglets, they become a detriment to adult eagles. Children need a loving and caring home to grow up in, to be taken care of, to be nurtured, and taught how to fit into the world, but we weren’t meant to stay there forever. Like eaglets, children are designed to grow up, become independent, and at the right time and in the right way, leave the nest. If we as parents do not take our job seriously, we may be guilty of enabling our children to live at or below the status quo. If we aren’t willing to remove some of the “fluff” from our nest, we may never see our kids fly. 

    Sometimes life can be frustrating, difficult, and downright unfair. Teenagers are in a difficult stage of their growth as they transition from childhood games and dependency to adult contemplations and independence. Sometimes this can seem overwhelming and doubt whispers in their ear that they will not amount to much, or why try because it’s too hard. There is an enemy that is more powerful than any misguided whiles of a Peter Pan or the desperate demand for control of a Captain Hook. If teenagers and adults are not careful with what they listen to and what they tell themselves, the enemy of hopelessness takes root. No matter how capable, intelligent, and trained a person can be, if they have sunk into the dark waters of hopelessness, they might never recover and if they do, they will never be the same. 

    Peter Pan and the lost boys are able to fly, much like Superman, but they were not born with this ability like the fairies of Neverland. They need some precious fairy dust and a happy thought. They need both; if they covered themselves in magical fairy dust, but did not think of a genuinely happy thought, they would stay firmly planted in the ground. Some of the happy thoughts were fun and simple, like ice cream or birthdays. Others were deeper, like the sound of a mother’s voice or “home.” Happy thoughts are the torches we have to ward off the darkness of hopelessness. Even a single happy thought can motivate and give a person the reason to continue on. 

    A few years ago, I received one of those calls you never want to get and are rarely prepared for. On the other end was a desperate friend calling because his neighbor’s young adult son, who had been struggling with depression and suicidal ideation, took his father’s handgun and sped off in his truck. The parents were terrified for their son’s safety as they had him on the phone and he was telling them his goodbyes. Even though the son barely knew me, he was willing to talk over the phone as the father brought me into a 3-way call. I spoke to him as my suicide prevention training had taught me. I determined all the signs of genuine intent: clear reason and direction, a plan, and the means to fulfill that plan. Check, check, and check. This young man had envisioned where and how he was going to end his life and he was quickly moving in that direction. I began asking what he thought life would be like for those he would leave behind. 

    He told me his parents were strong people and they would process through his death in a healthy way. Honestly, he wasn’t wrong, they would be hurt and changed forever, but they would process through their grief and then continue life. He told me he didn’t really have any close friends and no significant other, so that was a non-issue. I knew he had a pet dog, so I asked what would happen to his canine best friend once he was gone. The young man was taken back by this question as he hadn’t thought of it. “Well… Mom and Dad would probably have to find another home him, maybe even take him to the animal shelter. I wouldn’t expect them to take care of my dog,” he said calmly and thoughtfully. As we continued to speak I kept mentioning the dog to keep it in the forefront of his mind. We laughed about how he had gotten the dog and the joy he brought into the son’s life. I found his happy thought and this small light chased his hopelessness away. After a little more talking, he agreed to tell us where he was and for his father to come pick him up. Who knows how the story would have ended had we not found something for this struggling young man to hold on to. 

    Hopelessness can blind us to our happy thoughts. We can be so clouded with doubt, depression, and frustration that we lose sight of any good in our lives. Having struggled with depression myself, I am well aware of the darkness that peers back at us if we look too long into the abyss. I am careful who I spend my time with, what I watch, and where I go. As unwise as it is for an alcoholic to hang around in a liquor store, I too don’t surround myself “depressive things.” I protect my happy thoughts, because if I don’t they could be squeezed out my memory and I could fall into sadness and hopelessness again. The times depression surrounded me, I felt so heavy. Too heavy to get out of bed, let alone fly. It wasn’t until I began remembering my happy thoughts that I was able to get up, get dressed, make myself breakfast and venture forward again. My happy thoughts allow me to envision my future, set goals, and truly fly in my life, relationships, and goals. What is your happy thought? 

    While working with teenagers, I’ve seen many surprised looks when they heard I thought they had what it took to accomplish something. Whether they were teenagers in a church youth group, at a high school assembly, or in a detention center, they were often met with judgmental looks and discouraging words. While counseling teenagers and their parents, sometimes Mom and Dad would meet their teen’s aspirations with, “Well… we’ll see,” or “I think you should aim a little lower,” or “Yeah, but you’ve messed up before,” and sadly, the list could go on. There is nothing more detrimental to a young person’s dreams than a discouraging parent. A person can push through and even become more resilient if the world tells them they can’t reach a goal, but if they catch even a whiff of a doubtful glance from their parents, their dream factory will crumble to the ground, perhaps never to be rebuilt. 

    In Peter Pan’s fanciful world, he chose Tinker Bell as his closest friend. Perhaps this choice was subconscious, but still intentional as she was the perfect companion for an immature narcissist. She posed no threat to Peter as he was physically a giant compared to the little fairy, she could only communicate in chimes and whistles, and she was unwaveringly loyal to Peter. Even though, he often dismissed her, ran from her, and emotionally left her wanting. There were times he showed care and compassion for her as much as a young adolescent knew how, but she always came second to his whims of adventure and curiosity. Peter and Tinker Bell’s relationship was the classic, we’re-ok-as-long-as-you-let-me-do-what-I-want. 

    Fairies were known for their pixie dust, fast movements of flight, and were found to be useful spies. Fairies were quite resistant, but they had one silver bullet. Fairies were completely dependent on others “believing” in them. If someone said, “I don’t believe in fairies,” somewhere a fairy would instantly die. This concept has been brought into the world of psychology as the “Tinker Bell Effect.” The TBE is a basic emotional reaction to people either believing in you or not. When someone believes in you and communicates that belief, it fills you up, it puts the wind back in your sails, it brings life into your world, but when someone doesn’t believe in you, the doubtful words are like a knife to the heart. When someone communicates doubt, resentment, jealousy, or basic disbelief, like the fairies, they bring death into your world. 

    I have the amazing privilege of being a life bringer to youth at the detention center and high schools where I attempt to inspire and motivate. After speaking to a group of boys at a detention center, a tall, thin, older boy came up to me and asked, “What do you really see in me?” My mind raced to find the right words as this could be a turning point for this young man’s life. “Potential,” I said. He gave a little smile and nodded as he rejoined his group. I get a lump in my throat when I see the longing eyes of a young person who has been beaten down by scornful words and displeasing looks. Some of them have emotionally given up and have settled into their rock bottom, not because it is comfortable, but because they have been told it’s no use or that’s where they belong. Oof! When this discouragement comes from their own families, especially their parents, they give up all the more quickly. Even as their counselor and teacher who has poured into them every day, one thousand of my “atta boys” doesn’t come close to the value of one “you got this, son,” from a father or mother. 

    As valuable as encouragement from family and friends truly is, there is one critic that is always the loudest, the one that we can never escape, the one that has been with us since the day we were born and will only go silent at our funeral, he is the one inside our souls. Ultimately, we can be our own worst enemy or our greatest ally. Believing in oneself isn’t natural or something to easily pluck out of the sky. Believing in oneself is earned and it cannot be gifted to you by even the most well-meaning coach, teacher, or parent. Self-confidence isn’t something you’re born with, nor do some people just “have it.” Self-confidence is progressive and like a tree, the right conditions must be activated for it to grow. 

    While living in Alaska, I had to learn to do things a little differently. There’s a saying in Alaska that goes, “You can do anything in Alaska, it’s just a little harder,” (or a lot harder). One year I decided to attempt to grow a couple apple trees in my backyard. I had heard that apple trees did pretty well in Alaska as they could withstand the long harsh winters and bloom in the springtime. I wanted to do these trees right, so I dug out the rocky dirt put good soil in their spots, put rocks around their base to protect them, and kept them watered. The little trees needed my care and attention. If I had not tended to them in the right way, they would not have made it through their first winter. Little trees need attention, care, and watering. So do our ambitions and goals. Self-confidence comes from the little ideas, projects, and responsibilities we have in our lives. Self-confidence comes from little simple victories that grow into bigger challenges. 

    Right now, you may not have the confidence you could plant an entire orchard, but I know you could plant one tree… and then another… and another. Each tree builds your belief that you could plant another and one day, your garden will be so plentiful, so lush you will look around and say, “Look at all I was able to accomplish!” Tinker Bell is a fictional character in a children’s bedtime story, but for you and me, the Tinker Bell Effect is very real. You will either be a live-bringer or a death-dealer. Maybe it’s time to let a little life into your world. Maybe it’s time to start believing in others who are pushing their way through life, maybe it’s time to start listening to those who are trying to encourage you, maybe it’s time to start believing in yourself and bring some life back into your heart again. 

    Whether you think you can, or you think you can’t… you’re right. It is quite amazing how much potential people have. There is so much greatness in the world that is just waiting to be discovered. You are that greatness. Greatness comes from those who decide to push a little harder, go a little farther, and dream a little more. This is you. How much potential do you think you have? The correct answer is: all of it. You not only have the potential to do great things but you were destined for it. Your journey is yours and you must own it. Whatever you have gone through has led you to this moment, reading these words, sitting wherever you find yourself. Destiny persistently pursues us, but it is up to us to stop running, turn, and let it crash over us like a wave of the sea. It’s time. Put aside the things that hold you back, find your happy thought, determine your direction, and go get ‘em! You can do it. You got this.