3 Years of Wisdom
I have attended the most prestigious debate institutions in the county, received an exceptional education, read all the thought provoking philosophical literature that makes your head spin, and it is because of all of these experiences that I find it so ironic that it was brushing my teeth tonight in my pajamas and reflecting on my evening with the Lewis kids, that I had the most poignant epiphany, an epiphany derived from the simple words of a three year old.
“Where’s my ‘mess’?” she lovingly asks.
Her “mess” as she calls it, is this special spot on her beloved blankie that she takes just about everywhere she can. It’s a spot along one edge, where the fabric has torn and ripped a small hole. It is worn in every sense of the word—it bears her life… chocolate milk stains, paint and glue from arts and crafts, a little stickiness from a popsicle…
And yet, this is the spot she favors above all others. The most seemingly imperfect part of the whole. Her mess.
Sometimes I think that kids have a lot more to teach us than we have to teach them, about life, about love, about challenges. When do we become disenchanted by life? When does the magic disappear and can we ever get it back? At first glance I might look at the same blanket and see something that only used to be a pristine vintage fabric that likely cost a pretty penny.
But Millie adores this tattered blanket so much. It’s worn and dirty now and this only adds to its allure; she wouldn’t want it any other way. It’s comfortable. It’s real. It’s hers. And her favorite part is the one we as adults might rush to sew and fix—the mess. Maybe we should all relish in our own messes a little more… I am reminded of a song lyric… “What a beautiful mess I’m in”…………
I have attended the most prestigious debate institutions in the county, received an exceptional education, read all the thought provoking philosophical literature that makes your head spin, and it is because of all of these experiences that I find it so ironic that it was brushing my teeth tonight in my pajamas and reflecting on my evening with the Lewis kids, that I had the most poignant epiphany, an epiphany derived from the simple words of a three year old.
“Where’s my ‘mess’?” she lovingly asks.
Her “mess” as she calls it, is this special spot on her beloved blankie that she takes just about everywhere she can. It’s a spot along one edge, where the fabric has torn and ripped a small hole. It is worn in every sense of the word—it bears her life… chocolate milk stains, paint and glue from arts and crafts, a little stickiness from a popsicle…
And yet, this is the spot she favors above all others. The most seemingly imperfect part of the whole. Her mess.
Sometimes I think that kids have a lot more to teach us than we have to teach them, about life, about love, about challenges. When do we become disenchanted by life? When does the magic disappear and can we ever get it back? At first glance I might look at the same blanket and see something that only used to be a pristine vintage fabric that likely cost a pretty penny.
But Millie adores this tattered blanket so much. It’s worn and dirty now and this only adds to its allure; she wouldn’t want it any other way. It’s comfortable. It’s real. It’s hers. And her favorite part is the one we as adults might rush to sew and fix—the mess. Maybe we should all relish in our own messes a little more… I am reminded of a song lyric… “What a beautiful mess I’m in”…………
No comments:
Post a Comment