Last night we went to dinner at a local restaurant. My husband decided to linger a little longer inside, while I took my daughter outside. As I sat down, a large patch of green grass stared at us, an uncommon site in the desert. My daughter asked, “Momma, look at the grass. Can I walk in it?” Even before I said yes, she slipped her flip-flops off and started running fast across the grass.
I watched her run and a few times, she flapped her arms, and yelled, “I am free.” This statement and her laughter, the sheer giddiness she felt from the strands of grass, created a feeling of envy inside of me. Observing her, I noticed that she really immersed herself in the night air and absorbed what tickled her feet. And I sensed a lightness in her movements. Of course, I understand. She is a five year old, gliding between wonder and tiny speckles of knowledge. She doesn’t know enough. Yet. Freedom is a word she cannot define, but she lives it.
And I realize just how familiar the definition is to me, but I am unable to embrace it. There is always a but, an asterick, or a if this, then that cloud over my own actions. Sometimes I wonder, is my own overthinking preventing me from fully embracing the present? Is that what prevents me from really immersing myself into freedom? I want to hold on to so much, so many moments in my own life, that it prevents me from letting go. And the combination of overthinking, holding on, hampers me from really tasting the freedom that my daughter exhibits and feels with such intensity.
It is also the need to prepare that inhibits me from discovering the kind of freedom that is so second nature to my little girl. I am a habitual planner, constantly looking at my to-do list like it is some sacred religious text, and checking my calendar so I don’t miss something. There are not many moments in my own life that aren’t a result of a planned activity or scripted. Perhaps it is a result of our own expectations or forgetting that the best moments come when we aren’t so mesmerized by the planning of them.
For me, the green grass isn’t going to appear because I am too prepared to really feel the freedom of unexpected moments.
Image by Nedko
Welcome! I am a lawyer turned freelance writer, essayist, and editor. On staff at Literary Mama and the co-founder and co-editor of the literary journal, The Sunlight Press, my essays and reported work have appeared in The Washington Post, The Lily, Saveur, Civil Eats, Brain, Child, ESPN and elsewhere. I am currently at work on a memoir on grief and culture and how it provides perspective on life’s ordinary graces. I invite you to appreciate the ordinary with me. I hope my daily practice of seeing the magic in the mundane helps you celebrate and find more of these moments in your life too.
There are many things that call to me to run wild and free, but sadly as a “conditioned adult” I rarely venture there.
I know how you feel Suzicate. Sometimes situations call for me to be uninhibited, but I am so programmed to think about the possible outcomes.
I struggle with the same thing, Rudri. It does sound like a lovely moment with your daughter.
It was a nice moment, but I long to feel that way too. At least I am aware of the possibility, right?
A special moment with your daughter :). Children have joy that is difficult for us to attain. I think it’s because they don’t need to control their moment and their situation. My friend, it’s a difficult task but sometimes you have to let go, take a deep breath and enjoy the moment. Easier said than done….I know 🙂
Yes. Trying to breathe and appreciate what is, instead of what isn’t.. It is a difficult task, but I am trying. Thanks for the encouragement.
If we can manage to hang on to some of that childhood wonder – or even slip into it for moments – we, too, would feel that free.
As adults, we (unknowingly?) trade off many freedoms for the joys of relationship and parenting, which inevitably mean responsibilities.
I think for me it is comforting to know that the potential to slip into wonder still exists. The rest is up to me.
Part of the beauty of childhood is how it’s so free, only held down by general do’s and don’t’s. Yet unfortunately, you don’t realize just how special it is until you’re an adult, and held down by everything else.
Wish there was some way to know these things earlier, but that isn’t possible, is it? I suppose that’s life, but sometimes I wish as adults we were capable of slipping back into moments of our own childhood.