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I remember coming back from an event feeling really frustrated with the company I was with. They were the type of people who loved being miserable. The type of people who couldn’t find joy in the small moments of life.
It was insinuated to me that I was being “childish" simply because I wasn’t like that. Simply because I was easily happy and pleased.
The word “childish” is used as an insult to insinuate naivety but that evening as I poured my heart to my journal it struck me that there was power in staying a child.
Was I planning to write a poem? No. I’m no poet, and not even the biggest fan of poetry until relatively recently. And I’m still not sure if I can even call this a poem. But that evening, as I began to write what was meant to be a standard blog post, the words flowed differently and ended up as this.
—
Stay a child, my friend.
Even if you’re twenty, thirty or even sixty.
Even when your bones are creaking
and it hurts to just stand up,
stay a child.
Stay a child
so that when you see the expanse of grass
under a sunny sky,
you feel your heart soaring.
Your feet itching to take off,
to race into freedom.
Your chest…
