She turned seven yesterday.
Her seven is willing, eager, curious.
Her seven is before the editing, the I can’t because, the I’m not enough.
At seven, her ability to be present to what is astounds me in its willing simplicity.
She doesn’t yet know about rejection, cruelty and heartbreak. She will. I ache at the thought of what it will require to navigate those stormy seas. But for now my daughter reminds me of how to expect life to be fair.
I look at her and am inspired to bring back some of my own seven. To recast my view of myself in relation to my life, to shift my focus from what isn’t to what is. This morning, I’m playing with how to hold space for the world’s pain but not allow it to shut me down. It’s possible. My seven had wisdom I have shelved, forgotten, decided was naive — but as I sift through and reconsider that wisdom, I see the parts I want to reclaim. My forty-something self is craving the simple straightforward knowing the my seven-year-old self had in spades.
What parts of yourself might you also reclaim?
What childhood wisdom wants to make itself known again?
What have you forgotten about how to live?