Few things are more wondrous than seeing a little boy observe and experience the world for the first time.
He processes everything out loud and openly as he observes the way the world’s gears turn. He makes a discovery and by his excitement you’d think he was the first one to see light reflecting or notice a shadow dancing. He is a tiny explorer addicted to the thrill of the buried golden doubloons.
There is an open genuineness adults have long since lost. We’ve been beaten into keeping our observations to ourselves. Our insights and wonderment might be offensive. We might look naive and betray our ignorance. Rather than risk such dangers to our carefully guarded personas we stay silent. Our thoughts bounce around within our minds, both hemmed in by our own experience and weakly untouched by the potentially enlightening voices of those around us. It is an odd sort of community-potential held at arms length.
If thinking is the entertaining of uncomfortable thoughts we keep our tight-lipped solace. The discomfort must be borne alone. It could be dangerous to invite others on the cliff-side backpacking trip of our minds.
The child accelerates their learning not only from a youthful mind running for peak absorption. Their grasp of their surroundings is an accelerated virus catalyzed by the surrounding voices tossed into the chaotic fray. Their own ramblings and the contributions of the proximal are: judged, processed, incorporated, and added to the newly formed theory of all things.
The boy straining against his seatbelt, tray table in the upright position, he sees the world as magic as the landscape goes out of sight. He shouts excitedly “we’re flying!!! we’re flying!!!” You’d think the whole spectacle and machinations were orchestrated only for his benefit.
His eyes stretched open, bursting wide.
Everything has particularity.
We, his attendant adults pass by a trash receptacle and our mind barely wastes any time processing it. An app-icon for trash appears in our consciousness. Yes, it is the hallmark of efficiency and focus. Perhaps even a necessity for a mind preoccupied with bills coming due, dates not to be missed, social protocol to be strictly observed. Our boy champion sees the trash cans, notices and remarks on their shape, color, the varying sizes of the openings meant to subliminally hint at their purpose. There is nothing subliminal for him. It is all overt and yelling at him to question its purpose.
For the battle-hardened and thoroughly domesticated adult to observe the boy and truly understand what is going on requires an uncommon patience and suspension of strict manners. It is uncomfortable and almost impossible. We wish the “whys” to cease. The incessant chatter to quiet and stop distracting us from our hurried importance.
Criminally, we wish this marvel to slow its fervent and vocal pace. We do so at our own peril. We are withholding water from the roots of thoughtfulness.
Insights are dried and shriveled up as malformed buds. We’re stealing a more full-viewed future from our progeny.
More personally we are missing the chance to experience the world anew once again. The irony is oceanic in depth.
This vicarious experience goes by unexplored. A missed chance at experiencing the pure delight of the magic of youth once more.
Perhaps by accident we’ll find ourselves slowing pace and forcefully steeling our mind’s gaze to this conduit of wonderment.
Perhaps.
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