We all start out as children with wide eyes and open hearts—
pockets filled with dreams, imaginations that can outfly gravity.
But somewhere along the line, someone convinced us to climb down from our rooftops,
place our wooden swords on dusty shelves,
and leave our Neverland behind.
Remember Peter Pan?
Many interpretations show him as a cautionary tale of a boy needs to grow up and be an adult.
But I love the version from the 90’s movie, Hook. Where Robin Williams plays Peter Banning: a cutthroat lawyer, a grown man who’s forgotten how to laugh like he means it, how to crow at the sun, how to see past the rigid lines of adulthood.
He lost his childlike wonder—
or maybe he locked it away, deep inside.
Sometimes, we do the same.
We swap our daydreams for deadlines, push down the playful voice that dares to say, “What if?”
so it won’t rock the boat.
We grow thick skins, build walls, and can become our own worst enemy—the inner critic, that Captain Hook inside us, always pointing his sharp hook at our hearts,
whispering “You’re not good enough. You’ll fail.”
But there’s another part of us, a hidden hero—
the Pan, ready to reclaim joy, curiosity, and that sense of infinite possibility.
This inner superhero fights for our innocence, celebrates our imagination, and marries childlike wonder with adult resilience.
This part shows us that you can fly if you believe—
that it’s never too late to dream.
In 2023, I participated in a coaching program where we were asked to name the voices within us.
The “inner critic”—that destructive, doubting part of us—
and the “inner superhero”—the one that steps up, shields our heart, and reminds us of our potential.
We personified them, gave them names. I chose Captain Hook for my inner critic. —Pan the Man—for my inner superhero.
Then we were instructed to write letters firing the critic—
letting that fearful and critical part of us know that they are no longer needed in the new story we’re writing.
So, I invite you to listen with an open heart.
And maybe, you’ll be inspired to find your own path back to parts of yourselves that might be hidden. A path to your own inner Neverland—
not to escape adulthood,
but to heal what’s been lost and reclaim the magic you’ve carried all along.
Dear Captain Hook,
Thank you for doing what you thought was right all these years for Taylor. But your time as his advisor has come to an end.
In your many years of service, you made Taylor feel small, weak, too inexperienced, unforgiven, and unloved. You told him things like: “That idea will never work. Don’t put yourself out there, you’ll just be criticized. You’ll just be disappointed, so don’t get your hopes up. You’re just a sad and wounded little boy. You’re weak. Just put your dreams away. A job is a job, shut up and make your paycheck. It’s a dangerous world. Protect yourself and don’t think of others. You’re a pirate now. Just give up. Dreams are for children. Nonsense and make-believe. Grow up..”
You even caused Taylor to sometimes question the love that his parents gave him. You said things like “You’re daddy didn’t REALLY love you and neither did your mom. That’s why your dad yelled at you and your mom moved away.”
I know you meant to say these things in order to give Taylor a thick skin, to protect himself from the sting of rejection, failure, loss, and abandonment. You showed him how to be a pirate. He’s put on the clothes when needed in order to fit in and play it safe, and has looked away when those around him could’ve used his help.
Taylor has officially decided to walk the plank. To jump overboard from your ship that you’ve held him captive on for so long. You may think that he’s a fool. That he’ll drown or be eaten by crocodiles. That may have been the case for some, but not for Taylor.
You see, Mr. Hook, he no longer needs the safety of your ship. Because I’ve taught him to fly. I’ve taught him to fight. And I’ve taught him to crow.
Go back to your place and never return. If you ever truly did care for Taylor, know that he forgives you, but is now moving on to live his best life.
Sincerely,
Pan the Man
And so, in your own mind, I ask you to join me —
I invite you to call upon your own inner-super hero, to speak from that place inside yourself. And tell your inner critic that their time is over.
But this isn’t a simple flip of a switch.
It’s a daily decision to recognize and release the critical voices,
to choose wonder over worry,
to see possibilities instead of problems.
It’s letting the child in us hold hands with the adult we’ve become—
neither overshadowing the other.
Let’s pause and reflect on our own journeys:
• What part of your childlike wonder do you long to rekindle?
• Where in your life could you benefit from a touch of playful imagination?
• When your inner critic speaks, whose voice do you truly want to hear in its place?
As we go back to your everyday routines, I invite you to keep these questions close.
Maybe even write them down— think of them whenever you feel stuck or doubtful,
whenever the Hook in you tries to call the shots again.
Because the real magic is this:
We don’t have to abandon our grown-up wisdom to embrace the childlike wonder we once knew.
We can live in that sweet intersection, where imagination fuels responsibility,
and joy dances with resilience.
That is our Neverland—
not a place we run away to,
but a home we choose to carry in our hearts.
Taylor Blanpied 