Have you ever had the chance to walk through a home that you lived in as a child? Did it seem much smaller to you in your adult shoes? It’s strange though somewhat logical that it would. After all, since we were smaller when we lived there, everything would have felt larger to us at the time. Still, it’s a little illogical as well. It didn’t change; we did. Our perspective is often altered as we age and grow.
Let's contemplate the Dunes. Did you ever climb Sleeping Bear Dunes as a child? If you attended a public school in northwest Michigan, you may have. That was my first trip up the sandy “slope,” at least as far as I can remember. It was like climbing Mt Everest. Would we ever get to the top? Laughing and sliding in the hot sand – our joy was complete. When we did get to the top, (we couldn’t see Lake Michigan yet, as you have to walk another distance across the dunes to see it), we turned around and saw the beautiful vista spread out behind us, and we were full of wonder. To the side at the top, there is this little oasis with trees. It’s a peaceful spot. As a child or young adult, the climbing was fun, the vista full of wonder, and the oasis magical, like we’d stepped into another world where the dunes were not. Now the climbing is a whole lot of work, the vista though beautiful is not “new” so not as wondrous, and the oasis – well, the oasis is a boon to a tired body. We do appreciate the break in that oasis and the peace is necessary to our souls, but some of the magic is gone. Maybe because there are not a pile of kids running with us these days, but more likely it’s because we’ve seen the dunes and lake scene and felt the heat and sun so many times, it’s harder to feel the full wonder of it now. (Like a favorite movie we’ve seen a dozen times that can’t surprise or startle us anymore even though we still love to see it.) Unless we really strive to capture it, to pretend, to imagine. If we let our souls be childlike again there is still some joy at accomplishing the climb and some of the expectation of seeing that oasis at the top and the vista when you turn around. All is not lost. Only that which we let go of and never strive to spark alive again.
What about our parents? The perspective of a child is that they are our “safety net”. They are somehow larger, though safer, than anyone else we know. All knowing, "ever-present", protectors, providers – our source of life and living. We trust them whether they are the “best” parents or the “worst”. I worked at a hospital some years ago, and I’ll never forget an abused child in her fear in the emergency room crying out for the parent who had caused her to be there. That moment opened my mind in many ways as to how we regard our parents when we are young children and the journey we make in recognizing them as people. How we expect them to be our “all”, our example, our place, our source – and to be flawless. As adults, we start learning that we are all just human and we all screw up. We experience the financial, emotional, and physical stress it takes to run a household, raise children, go to work when we’re tired or just want to stay home, and how we’re doing much of it for the first time so we often don’t know how to do it. We start to see our parents as people instead of bigger-than-life “gods” – or (as teens) as inferior to us while they are striving to be the “boss” of us – and that they, quite naturally, make mistakes, too. They are people. Just people. Flawed, striving, living their life, doing their best; PEOPLE. Perhaps still our heroes in many ways, but not perfect heroes.
The majority of the magic of our childhood may appear to be gone, but we can still appreciate new vistas, new experiences, and new people with excitement. If we’re open and watching, certain things can still trigger that childish magic. Smells, sounds, and visuals that are familiar to us or were part of our childhood are great memory prompts. Fresh paint can trigger a project you did with a parent or friend. A specific color or design might make you think of your favorite couch, house, car or outfit growing up. Hair or glasses styles might make you think of your parents or grandparents. These prompts might actually take your mind right to the exact memory of these people, projects and places. The sound of a train might put you back in your bedroom at night when you’d hear it rumbling past and you’d look outside at the stars above you. Maybe it’s the smell of wood or coal-fired furnaces that triggers your memory prompters. Smells of spring, summer, fall, winter…. The joy or peace or amazement of those moments can come back to you. These prompts turn us into little people again, standing on the porch, looking out into the past and inhaling the lost enchantment of youth. Maybe it’s a bit mellowed, but it’s still there. There’s magic in all of this – the magic of the memories of love: of people, of places, of feelings. Make new memories of love as much as possible. It seems those are the memories that follow me. People. Places. Moments of wonder and joy and peace. Look for the lost – no, mislaid – ability to see things through a child’s eyes of wonder.
The climb is a lot of work no matter what age you were.
The lovely oasis where you could rest or be as silly as you want.
The vista and the run down the dune!
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