This morning, standing in the shower: I lifted my foot to find one lonely, out of place, plastic, googly eye staring back at me from the bottom of my foot; a remnant from one of my daughter’s craft projects. But a reminder of the comedy that is life.
If I’m addicted to anything, its to the feeling that pushes the body to laugh. The child in me is always peeking around from behind the adult that I’m expected to be. If I did not possess this lively inner child, I could not write my children’s books. I need the young at heart flame, to think like a child, and therefore write the words a child would say. When the adult dominates, the writing is stilted and dry.
It is the child in me that has caused me to don a gorilla suit and drive, with my daughter in tow, to my father’s house last spring and huddle under his front window, with hopes of scaring the living daylights out of him. It is that same child that also sees a way out of most any situation. Kids, generally, aren’t wounded yet to the point of hopelessness. Hopelessness is an adult conclusion. Kids still possess the energy of the universe. Anything is possible to a child.
Its odd how to a child psychics seem completely possible. But an adult will view it as a dubious claim, at best. Yet the same adult will easily hit ‘post’ on their smart phone, believing completely in the plausibility and reliability that their photo will within seconds be seen on their friend’s Facebook page. Unseen energy, transmitted along an unseen frequency. Energy is energy; frequencies are transmitting whether we believe it or not. Like a bad internet provider, there are bad psychics – times a thousand. Yet, the basis of this hard to comprehend truth, is just as real as this blog post moving from my laptop and landing on someone’s laptop in Sweden, which it will do only moments from now.
It is the child in me that looks at life with awe and wonder. I’m amazed by every day miracles. I’m amazed by the human spirit. I’m amazed by the unfathomable talent I see in others, and the courage shown by one indomitable spirit when everyone else runs for shelter. If I had a dime for every tragedy through which I’ve lived – I’d be a very wealthy woman. Serious has found me even when I was hiding from it the hardest. Whether as a small child, or as a mother, it has found me. And yet, I’ve survived. Life’s too short to take myself or anything else too seriously. Doing so has only smothered the joy of living. There is this surreal place that sits just above the mundane, and all the seriousness of this world. It is the place children go when they dream with eyes open. It’s the place I too go, whenever given the chance.
When looking in the eyes of another, I can sense their inner being. Some of the oldest souls have the most childlike inner voices. The child in me, is what moves me forward to age another year. The adult in me has given up many times. But that little voice, that says, “Maybe. Just maybe this time we’ll get it right,” is the reason I’ve made it to 42. And mostly likely it will be that same voice that accompanies me when I am 89.