begin again…

“If you actually learn to like being a beginner, the whole world opens up to you.” Barbara Sher

I feel like a youngster.

Like the world is just unveiling itself to me — a babe firstborn to life's bright ceremonies.

Each sight, scent, whisper an inaugural fête.

I don’t think I ever was wholly a child.

I didn’t do childhood things. I didn’t watch childhood shows. (Aside: Feel free to message me whenever about The Golden Girls, I Love Lucy, and Designing Women — my formative influences.)

I trudged through this world weighted by seriousness and concern, constrained by an undue sense of gravity. I was devoid of the whimsy I’ve grown to love most about children.

While others romped, I stood watchman, sentry to my solemn sphere. Others’ bellies of laughter turned tart upon my palate's premature fears and responsibilities.

I was akin to little Dakota Fanning in Uptown Girls — I had a blunt bob, a smart, monogrammed wardrobe, and a love of rules. And I too looked on in judgment at those whom I perceived as earnest.

This is a harsh world. Harden yourself, callous your soul, put on your chicest shades, and act accordingly.

I used to think this was cool. I liked how childhood seemed beneath me — “You saccharine creatures…oblivious to the garishness. I’m ahead of the curve, prepared for the bleakness of maturity.”

I was wrong. Oh, so wrong. Because only ever existing as an “adult,” is a loss. It’s deprivation, not elevation. And I feel melancholy thinking of the formative fun, curiosity, and silliness that I missed out on — that so many have missed out on.

Childhood irreplaceably shapes our psyches, senses of wonder, and ability to play and imagine. To bypass that phase leaves gaps that no amount of perceived sophistication or trendy, mauve lipsticks can fill.

And maybe this is why I cried during the eclipse, or after an ice cream date with Delilah, or when I spotted the season’s first rabbits. Because it’s in these moments that I feel the immensity of my fumbles. I remember how the days, big and small, washed past without my participation. Of how I was too zoned out or numb to care.

I remember begging for the world to take me seriously, to hold me up, and to laud me. And now that it does — more or less — all I want is for everyone to look away. Avert your eyes, please, so I can dance and sing down the grocery aisles. So I can plunge too eagerly into the future. So I can dig up and play with all the parts that I misguidedly buried.

Just for a little while, so I can unselfconsciously experience joy.

It’s bittersweet.

But I’m lucky, the game isn’t over. The sun hasn’t set.

I can be both the mournful adult grieving her childhood and the eager student of childlike pleasures, at last able to unwrap her gift.

Rediscovery and wonderment await.

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I’ve been spending more and more time outside. I linger in stillness, staring at leaves, flowers, and jittery chipmunks. Every day feels like a new revelation.

But the experiences aren’t new, only the appreciation is.

I’m acknowledging the marvels at my feet — the kaleidoscope of butterflies dancing on the breeze, the intoxicating perfume of flowers in full bloom.

And with each sun-drenched Spring day, something new jostles free — most recently, my long-slumbering sense of enchantment. And as if I’ve been reborn, I slink into a state of innocence. I’m mesmerized as squirrels frolic and scamper across newly emerald ground. I see how the buds bursting forth on every branching limb contain galaxies of mystery slowly unspooling. I see the lessons of these carefully curated movements.

I’ve joined the dance of nature, twirling amidst her lavish scenes. No longer the precocious, old-souled spectator — I’m peering through wide, pure eyes, awakened to little miracles.

Seeing, not perceiving.

And since I’m no longer armored against this brilliance, I’m tenderly embraced.

What rich delight to be remade into such an unguarded, naked novice!

A fledgling!

To have the cynical overlays of adulthood brushed aside and to greet the Earth softened. And as all my hurried, jaded ways dissolve, may I continue to revel in this childlike seeing. When we view this life with the adventurous, undivided gaze of a beginner, we truly experience its beauty.

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On Tuesday, I spent two hours on stage in front of 400 people. A friend in the crowd made funny faces. I made one back. In that instant, the pressures dissolved — the people, the cameras faded away. I was simply present, uninhibited, alive.

Yep, that kid — the unbridled spirit — is still within. She always was.

I’m determined to make up for lost time by drinking deeply from the wells of raw presence and mirth.

I’m going to linger for a while in this pure state of being. I must.

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