I’ve decided my discussion at work about how we stopped believing in Santa needed explored further.

Well, as I mentioned, I couldn’t recall an exact moment where I thought “I know Santa isn’t real.” As with most everything in life, I always had my doubts. When Amy said, “I always tried to believe in everything,” I realized this issue was a little bigger than remembering when I found out Santa was a fraud, since I’d always followed the exact opposite philosophy.

I was born not believing in much, which is funny because I had a crazy imagination. When my siblings and I had a secret club, I could convince myself that my rock had special magical powers. Heck, I even believed that my porcelain unicorns got jealous if I let some stay on the front of the shelf longer than others. I had all the weird makings of a Santa believer.

But I spend everyday doubting what I’m told or see, trying to figure things out and make sense of the misunderstood. It’s my weakness…or strength. I strive to understand everything. I live in the details of how all the little things around me work and why.

I suppose what I find most interesting is that Mitch also never really believed in Santa. My sister said we must have had no imagination, but really, based on all our other similarities, I venture to guess he lived in his mind as much as I did. And today, I’m on my way towards, and he already is, creative director at a company of creatives. How does that work? Well, maybe Santa just seemed too ordinary in comparison to the other visions dancing in our minds.

And I must part with my new favorite lyric:

But I’m good at being uncomfortable so I can’t stop changing all the time