Childhood

I have always valued, in myself and in others, the ability to retain some of the wonder of childhood. There is something magical and rejuvenating in being awed by simplicity: in finding joy in an afternoon spent playing in the sun, in catching butterflies, in sledding and throwing snowballs, in spending time with a friend without gossiping, in taking a long walk with no particular destination in mind. This sounds phony and canned, I know, but I firmly believe that this unadulterated happiness is central to our well-being. Pre-packaged joy, fueled by advances in technology, by societal perceptions that what a child enjoys cannot transcend the age barrier, perpetuating a misconception that happiness must be complicated: if there are no buttons or batteries, no accompanying video or high price-tag, no gadgets or instructions, it cannot possibly be capable of bringing us joy.

In fact, such items do provide a diversion and can make us happy. But should they do so at the expense of childlike awe? Should they negate the value of the imagination? Does a loss of sense of wonder in the world around us necessarily have to accompany the loss of childhood?

Isn’t there a freedom to be found in surrendering yourself, even for a few minutes, to the delight we inexplicably keep reserved for children? Or am I too much of a dreamer, too much of an optimist, too naïve?

Copyright © 2007