There is a child embodied in us all. We are born with it. It lingers longer with some of us than others, our young, unencumbered self. The young artist, the imaginative story teller, the free and wild child, who did and thought and acted as their unique self without regard to who was watching or judging, the ballerina who danced as though no one was watching even when they were.
Great art, great philosophy, modern thinking, discovery and innovation come from that mind. Certainly it becomes sophisticated and more worldly as the brain matures and we experience life over time, but people who retain that child’s perspective bring their best work forward from that source. It is where inquiry, wonder, amazement and amusement reside. It is the part of us that seeks pleasure for pleasure’s sake, takes the risks, takes the ride knowing they will be scared but jumps on anyway.
That child lives in all of us for a time. For many it becomes dampened down, shackled and controlled far too early; lost and lonely.
My child lives on. She takes me to the mountain top to watch the sunrise, delights in the simple sweetness of ice cream and allows me to fall in love. She is the source of the sparkle in my eye. She awakens every morning urging me on to see and do more and more, even on those days when my body protests that it is older than it was yesterday. She is persistent and at times annoying in her quest for what is new and yet unexplored. She prods me out of my bed and into the world, her eyes wide and her heart open. She is the spark that ignites my inner light and keeps me going, moving, wanting and striving. She is a playful, romantic, inquisitive girl who knows there is always more waiting for her, even at 62, she is in love with life.