For my sixth birthday, I was gifted all ten seasons of Little House on the Prairie on DVD.
For a little girl born in 2007, I was more than ready to surrender the brief life I’d constructed to live in the 1800’s. There was something that appealed to me about the simple lifestyle.
I wanted to ride in a wagon where the sound of the horses pulling me could be enough to lull me to sleep. I wanted to place my lunch pail on the wooden steps of the one-room schoolhouse where I could be taught math—somehow everything would make a little more sense there. I wanted my chores to be collecting the eggs from the chicken pen to carry into town and sell and patching the holes in my clothes from years of outdoor labor.
More than anything, I wanted to wear the beautifully intricate dresses that seemed to make anybody look stunning and a hand-made matching bonnet to cover my hair that never seemed to look good in a bun.
I was aware that I wouldn’t have the luxuries society has become so accustomed to, but that’s the part I looked forward to the most.
To say the least, I’m not a city girl. Little House on the Prairie ruined that for me indefinitely.
Traveling places in a car wouldn’t be missed; I crave the norm to be riding a saddle and horse again. Sure, a two-day trip may take a week, but the experience would be exciting beyond belief. At least then I would be aware that I wasn’t expelling a toxic poison with each mile I covered, tainting the irreversibly polluted world with a matter I could control.
Humanity has only continued to stretch since my sixth birthday, extending even further beyond the time my heart wished to be in. Since my sixth birthday, I’ve been categorized as an “old soul:” No part of me wants to listen to rap—a controversial opinion, I know, and my attempts at connecting with people my age have been forever hopeless; I don’t desire someone I can play video games with, it would only add more noise to my brain that I can hardly handle the racket of now.
To say the least, I’m not a city girl. Little House on the Prairie ruined that for me indefinitely. Though it closed off my brain to the opportunities of the present for quite some time, I know now what I long for: an old romance where I would be walked to the door with the mutual understanding that I’m perfectly capable of doing so myself; an old house where I can bring personality to a place and call it home; an old life where I could walk outside and only fear nature itself, not people.
My lust for a different life slowed as I matured, but my dream of owning a little house on the prairie remains a flickering hope in my heart.
