Frigid winter mornings are usually accompanied by hot chocolate and blankets, while creating a somber mood to the souls that belong to spring and summer. Using this time to hide from the unwanted elements and to analyze why we associate growing up with becoming callused to the world around us, may seem a little subdued, but I believe such reflection is needed. Two questions come to mind: When did we stop playing in the wild flowers and when did dancing under the stars and singing in the rain become a task only suited for children and hippies?
Summer evenings, when the air smelled so sweet and the sky illuminated my fish bowl size world, are some of my favorite memories from my childhood. Coated in the day's messes, my dirt and peanut butter crusted sundress swished in the wind as I ran down my sidewalk upon the arrival of my father. After dinner, my sister and I would wait, not so patiently, in the front yard for him to change his clothes so we could go on a walk. The path chosen was one of a forgotten road beside my house. Back then, it was a desolate stretch of lonely pavement; for me, it might as well have been the yellow brick road leading to Oz. The intent of this walk was that of collecting the wild or weed flowers along the side of the road. My sister and I would point to the ones that we wanted, while it was my father's sole duty to pick and inspect each of the flowers for bugs. We would then flutter back home with as many of these flowers as our little hands could hold, only to present them to my mother to be placed in the vases around my kitchen. The vases held those precious flowers proudly, as if to hold roses or tulips. On days that I struggle to be a grown-up, my mind goes back to those walks; I am reminded of the feeling when dirt would get into the crevasses of my shoes and in between my toes.
As we grow, we spend less and less time splashing in puddles and picking clover. This is a natural part of life; it is only when we grow up too much and decide that the small details in life are not important anymore, that we lose ourselves. We become the person we said we never wanted to be. We create an agenda for ourselves and forget that the time we spent outside and playing are the times we remember the most. Even though they might be better at it, playing in the wild flowers is not just for children and hippies. I hope you will find yourself knee-deep in colored petals, dreaming about the fish bowl size world you created for yourself.
