In childhood, daily living was about curiosity and wonder. The need for sensuality, to experience by touch, taste, sound, and smell.
The imaginary colours of dreams and make-believe often cloud even reality. For example, my brother’s believed they really could be Spider-Man if they got bit by a spider and kept looking for spiders to bite them and practising their jump from sofa to sofa in the living room.
The make-believe of Cinderella is where most girls start dreaming of the possibility of a fairy tale. A world where love is all giving, selfishness is eschewed and the prince is handsome. No one is talking about an overweight prince charming with a heart of gold or Cinderella with acne.
Ok, fine, I wasn’t trying to diminish the fairy tale. My point is, in dreams, it is far easier to polish the fine edges of unpleasant details because who wants to focus on the soil when one can look at the colourful roses?
Actually, it’d be too close to reality to allow room for all the rusty details and so we gloss over unpleasantness which is quite the point of imitating perfection.
What we forget, however, is how peculiar little moments can be. The ones we lavish wonder upon. Like stumbling on clear blue skies upon opening one’s eyes on a road trip.
The joy of trailing a stranger because they smell so nice (ok, fine I’ll admit this sounds a bit stalker-ish 😂). The pleasantness of desires and having them met.
Little things like wanting ice cream and going out choosing which flavour or backpacking for a road trip. Laughing with friends at a bar contemplating what else to do. Saying goodbye and feeling teary from all the missing that would happen after.
Looking forward to love and rehearsing for when you finally find the love you’ve been waiting for. Receiving hugs from parents, getting the new gadget you’ve had your eyes on for a while.
I read a writing prompt that stated: “What does it mean to be a child at heart?”
I think the more adult we become the more we conceive that our problems are individualistic and specialized, we sort of segregate our experiences as peculiar even when it is most certainly true that someone else has walked or is walking in our shoes but for toddlers, there is no such thing.
They are brutally honest about their feelings almost without tact, keen on demanding attention and having their needs met almost selfishly, quick to forgive themselves and others who have wronged them, and posed to dream wild dreams that are almost laughable given how impossible they sound.
The absolute sense of no worries, complete trust in being cared for and things just working out. Actually, not even knowing what things working out mean 😂. The absolute flex.
I remember asking a couple of people once if they were happier as adults than they were as kids. The consensus of the answers seems to point to the fact that happiness takes on new meaning the older we become.
This is true and acceptable but my motive was to measure the intensity in the life of the joy. It seems to me that in childhood we were able to feel joy absolutely without preparation for the downsides or consequences of failure. Our respect for life was more immediate and present.
The older we get, the more isolated we feel about our struggles, bowing in the frustration and shame of incapacity but the truth is we simply lost the awe, the naivety to be impressed by little things, to trust absolutely in goodness and mercy, the heart to always be willing to begin again no matter how many times a new start is required. Summary: Find your wonder and when you do, never lose sight of it.
Summary: Find your wonder and when you do, never lose sight of it.
May our memories be pleasant and our hearts remain childish. Here’s to outlandish ideas 🥂
Salut!!!
Connoisseur of Memories 