When I was younger, I would spend so much time outdoors, that later in life my sisters and I would tell stories about our mother locking me out of the house during the summer, knowing I wouldn't return anyways until dinner.
Dirt and mud, soggy shoes and grass-stained knees, none of these things bothered me. If my hair was greasy, or my shirt was noisome, I never knew. I ran everywhere for the thrill of the wind rushing past my ears, and the momentum in my bones--never to get anywhere quickly (unless it was a race, of course).
I climbed, and imagined without shame, and I unabashedly played with toys. If the sun was out, I was outside, and if it was rainy... I was outside then too; or, at least until my mom called me back.
When did I learn to worry?
Even at the age of twenty-two, I am adolescent, but I have matured noticeably each year. What's funny is that I'm coming to an understanding of maturity that is very different from what I had imagined.
When I was in middle school, I quickly learned that if I wanted to fit in, and be cool, I would have to dawn certain costumes procured at the proper locations; I would have to keep calm and seldom smile; and I could no longer watch cartoons, or play with toys, or anything associated with childhood. I used swear words for the first time in sixth grade, and I learned how to abandon people that would bring my reputation down.
Since that time, I have come a long way. Lately I have begun to understand that maturity is not in reserved action, complete rationality, or social stoicism. We are still mature if we climb trees, or chase each other, or imagine worlds. Maturity is not supposed to lance the child out of us. In fact, I have met many who have seemed to be completely without their inner-child, and yet could not be described as anything other than juvenile individuals.
Adult deals with age and status. Maturity deals with a recognition of responsibility and urgency towards the amelioration of the world around oneself.
Understanding one's inner-child, though, requires some necessary boundaries.
I am allowed to climb trees, but if all I ever did (even if just during my free time) was climb trees, I would lose track of maturity on some level. For what does climbing trees accomplish besides a fresh perspective? And not to say that everything requires an accomplishment for its justification. But if I define all of my times of rest, and/or all of my relationships, by climbing trees, something would feel out of place. And if it came to the point that all I ever talked about, and all that I ever looked forward to, was the weekend so I could once again feel bark on my palms, and the smell of wood in my lungs, would not my life look futile?
When I was a child, my obligations were different, and so my life was allowed to focus around play. As an adult, I have an agency[ies] to fulfill.
However, the child must remain, and when I play, it seems I should be allowed to do so without fear or judgment. I should be allowed to dream. And why the hell can't I play with Legos? And these shouldn't be things that I skip, either, for the purpose of always working. The one who always works, quickly forgets how to sleep. And the one who does not sleep can no longer dream.
Our society struggles with a strange tendency to equate adulthood with a loss of humility. One of the first things one is taught in Middle School about growing up is that goofing off is uncool. When we view the things we love and bring us joy as shameful, we are too proud. Children do not comprehend pride. A soggy shoe is fun to walk on for the noise it produces. And hair is just a little extra color on someone's head.
To live healthy and fulfilling lives, our child must walk with us. I think in that way, maturity walks in stride with humility.
"And calling to him a child, [Jesus] put him in the midst of them and said, 'Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.'"
Matthew 18:2-4
I find this so true. It seems that the more we grow up the less we remember what it feels like to be a kid. To just be content with what we have, and having that ignorant bliss of not worrying about anything beyond our own door step. But with that comes complication, and as we get older we learn to toughen and shape ourselves to fit what the world calls normal or acceptable. And that thinking the happy end is always inevitable when most of the time it never turns out that way. But thats the beauty of being a child, that they simply have hope in the good and forget the bad. Children can teach us a lot in the way we should be living thats why I feel it is very important to still have that innver-child, and be able to climb a tree when I get the notion. Because lets face it I still do that.
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