King Bidgood's in My Psyche

Have you ever rediscovered a part of your childhood? A decades-long buried one, covered by layers of dust and grocery lists and term papers? A memory so yellowed with age that it disintegrated and became a part of the very soil in which you grew your identity?

I did - and this is that story.

I brought my children to story time in the park last week. Besides the obvious literary appeal, it's always a great way to burn some time and energy. I was chasing my youngest through the trees while the older two sat, enraptured amongst their friends. I glanced over - more to monitor behavior than to check out the book.

That's when I heard it.

There's a cadence carried through most children's stories. It's almost like a song. Each is unique - and the best are not only unique, but truly special. Most of us can identify our favorites in only a moment with the certainty of a fingerprint match...

...and there it was.

King Bidgood's in the bathtub, and he won't get out!

Something about it caught my ear. I drew closer.

When I saw the pages, I immediately recognized the "moody maximalist" aesthetic that was the backbone of my home decor choices...

my personal look...

my fashion inclinations...

my inner thoughts and dreams, my aspirations, and my internal mood board itself...

Be cool, I urged myself. You're in public.

"THIS IS MY JAM!!", my inner child screamed back.

Is this...is this why I relax in a hot bath every single night as an adult?

Is this why I gravitate toward velvets and jewel tones and dark wood, while the other moms opt for clean, sunbathed minimalism?

Is this why I feel I've achieved the height of luxury when I eat a dessert - or a charcuterie tray - or even a whole meal - in my tub?

So much of our identity is formed in nooks and crannies of our psyche that seem inaccessible. Here, at a playground nestled deep in suburbia, someone had unwittingly shone a flashlight around a corner of mine.

Our childhood favorites are never truly gone. They age and disintegrate - but the crumbs left are many. They mesh and multiply and create new ideas. They become the tiny pixels that form our self-portraits.

Years ago, those very particles prodded me toward the Dior exhibit at the Denver Art Museum. At the time, I wasn't sure why the dresses enchanted me on such a primal level.

Now, I wonder...was there a part of me who knew these women would have fit right in with King Bidgood's court?

Is this my Rosebud?

When we choose bedtime stories for our children, we often seek out overt moral or educational messages. That's not all they leave behind, though. King Bidgood shaped my aesthetic development, my idea of luxury, and my ideas about creative problem solving. 

This book taught me that work, recreation, and moments of luxury don't need to be mutually exclusive.

These ideas took hold so deep within my psyche, so mingled with other influences and experiences, that they grew into something entirely different. 

Now they are components of my personality.

There, in that park, I was faced with my aesthetic origin story.

I tried to play it cool. I really did. 

That didn't last too long, though. 

I found myself scream-whispering to a friend, "This book is me! This is my book! I'd forgotten it - but this was my childhood favorite!"

Most people would have just placated me with a nod or an indulgent smile. Thankfully, Jessica gets me. She was as excited as I was - a true and loyal woman of the court. 

"Does this mean we're holding our next women's group in your bathtub?" she asked with a smirk.

Maybe we should...